


Listen to This Happily Ever After Town

by ElenoftheWays



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: A lot of movie references, Brandy just being the best and the cutest dog ever, Eventual Fluff, Everyone in this fic except for Jay lies at some point, Everyone loves Brandy, F/M, Feelings, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, It's not angst just emotional porn, M/M, POV Cliff Booth, POV Rick, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RIck Dalton can't drink and smoke anymore, RIck Dalton starts doing yoga you guys, Rick Dalton concerned about his career, Rick Dalton crying, Rick Dalton experiencing PTSD, Rick Dalton's relationship with himself, Rick Dalton/Original Character but not in the way you think, Rick and Cliff just being best friends, That morning in the hospital with bagels, The week after the attack, Unrequited but in denial platonic love on both ends, a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 15:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21496426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenoftheWays/pseuds/ElenoftheWays
Summary: Sometimes Cliff really wondered if they were ever friends. For all he knew, it was a convenience at first being once upon a time-coworkers with a mutual love for the drink occasionally getting together! He always was a sucker for opportunistic friendships like these, but after the past year, things were starting to feel different. Cliff was actually getting to know the real Rick Dalton and not just the guy he did stunts for in those 5 years. It also didn’t hurt that he was getting paid for house chores during the process. But it did start feeling like something else, a something else without an exact word to it and maybe that was an OK thing! People over-define things too much in this day and age.
Relationships: Cliff Booth & Rick Dalton, Cliff Booth/Brandy, Cliff Booth/Rick Dalton, Francesca Capucci/Rick Dalton, Rick Dalton/Jay Sebring, Rick Dalton/Sharon Tate
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	Listen to This Happily Ever After Town

Sharon burst out laughing, blond hair falling behind her naked shoulders before falling back against her chair. That massive bubble of large fair skin and the faintly red stretch marks closer to her waist hiccupped even harder against her giggling. Little tears were actually at the corners of her eyes! Rick couldn’t entirely blame her as the shadow of his aviators turned back towards Sharon’s pool. The dark outlines of Brandy’s scrawny brown ears were the first to come floating back out from the intensity of her water-bound sneeze. It took her straight down under the obscenely blue water, but like last Friday night, the greatest pit bull in the world unashamedly recovered. A doggy paddle sent her towards the rounded steps of the Polanski pool and she was prancing right out looking a little less confused than after her hippy snack. If a dog could smile, _ that _ dog was actually smiling! Those floppy little ears were the first to shake before the rest of her body naturally dried itself off, the belt around her neck clanging from side to side. An impossibly stupid smile just couldn’t help itself. 

“I _ love _ this dog, Ja—” Sharon’s brown eyes were a little darker from behind sunglasses, shorter eyelashes flickering even wider as they looked back at him clearly in shock. “I—Rick.” 

“N-not a problem, Jennifer, ma’am.” 

That made her sit even taller against the purple vinyl lounge chair, probably looking like he did when Sharon opened her front door Friday night. She actually covered her mouth gasping “oh my God, Jake Cahill. Jay! Jake Cahill!” before crossing the threshold with a much calmer hand stretching out for his. He didn’t even give his own clearly shaking grip a second thought. Nothing really feels more amazing to know that fictional character you placed underneath your skin makes someone else think of you as that person! But the darker outline of her unmade eyes immediately rolled, those manicured fingers grabbing her lit cigarette from the ash tray from the table in between them. “Oh, Jennifer” breathed right out of her as well as a little puff of shadowed smoke, “Oh, Jennifer.” 

Arms somehow managed to cross behind his head and he could only hope they weren’t shaking as hard as they felt from the inside. Both eyes naturally slid shut. The afternoon L.A. sun smelled like it was burning alongside all of that smog just beyond Sharon’s cigarette and her delicately scented tanning oil. It was nice to be around a pool where he didn’t stress himself out in. But it was even weirder that underneath the car hood and behind all of this physical shock, Rick _ did _ feel a little calm at least for this moment. Friday really happened! 

It was hard to believe all of that happened only three days ago. Rick still couldn’t believe he was really at Jennifer North’s house! The shell shock started to really kick in while actually meeting Jennifer … Sharon who just kept accidentally calling _ him _ Jake for those two hours. Validation had never felt so good but so weird all at the same time. It was almost worth having his living room and pool area completely ruined! But by the time Rick had finished telling Sharon and her house guests everything that happened, he finally got a sip of that beer into his mouth. It was probably a better decision than having any hard liquor, but the thin piss water was actually burning down his throat and not in a good way. 

Francesca had been passed out for hours once he came back down the hill. Rick ended up making himself a whiskey sour for a reason he had already forgot even now. Maybe it was out of habit or because his bones were still rattling, but he kept looking up and around his blood-stained living room. Thankfully, the cops got the bodies and their more free-range parts out the best they could, leaving a card for a cleaning service once they realized whose house they were in. His eyes looked down towards the business card while taking that first sip. It all felt like acid in his mouth and before Rick knew it, he was running towards the guest bathroom and puking clear liquid. Only a mangled-up hippy falling and burning up in his own pool really could scare him right out of drinking. But how long would it really last? But there was also Cliff. That might have done it even more, but then there was Cliff’s big stupid goofy grin as the ambulance carted him away, Cliff’s dumb crazy laughter when he found him sprawled across his rug, blood trickling down his white jeans... 

Cliff... 

“Brandy, come here!” 

The plastic of Sharon’s white framed lounge chair thumped multiple times. 

Tears were already foaming right up behind aviators, eyes not even bothering to open. 

“I-I’m surprised you want to pl-play with a fully armored ki-killing machine like that.” 

Rick could only hope that Sharon didn’t hear the tiniest shake in his voice. 

Another thump blindly echoed. 

Brandy’s belt clasp clinked even louder from the direction of Sharon’s chair. 

“But she’s so cute and can bite a guy’s thingy off all at the same time! Brandy, I think you’ll do just fine in this man-powered world.” 

The buckle around her neck clinked all over the place, a few grumbles straight from the pit of her stomach sounding content if an animal can sound content. 

Tears started to gradually dry on their own. Everything was good and quiet for a few minutes, not hearing much except a radio quietly playing somewhere from inside of the house. Sharon was looking at him, he could almost feel the turn of her head. Brandy quietly sneezed and that sweet brown-eyed gaze was back to looking at him. To Sharon, he really was Jake Cahill and it should have, no, it _ did _ feel like an unspoken compliment. 

But he was still a has-been. 

Even after a slew of those stupid Italian spaghetti westerns, he knew he was starting to enter what he called only to himself the Bela Lugosi zone. It was always a silent knowing fact that any kind of addict couldn’t come back from what Dracula had lived through, taking what they can get with their brains and nerves completely shot! 

Fuck Schwarz. 

Rick Dalton is still a has-been. 

It was a blameless chanting in his head. How else can a person feel when the quality of their mostly temporarily creative services keeps tanking? Rick blamed his midwestern work ethic, the one damned thing that used to keep him going between the fame and all of the hangovers. It was only a matter of days or even weeks until Sharon and Jay knew the truth about him no matter how hard he would fight to get into Roman’s good graces. But in the few hours he knew but not-knew her, Sharon Tate seemed like a very emotionally intelligent woman despite the roles she was cast in. She was going to catch on soon enough. The worry always did come and go just like Brandy’s paddling paws creating little waves in the pool before naturally disappearing all on their own until reemerging all over again. But these shaking nerves still weren't evaporating any time soon and after two days, Rick was ready for it to just stop! 

“Hm, and _ I’m _ surprised how you’ve held off the press this whole weekend.” 

“That m-might have something to do w-with that m-man-powered world of yours.” 

A little gasp sounded like a laugh off of the back of the sweet toned throat of hers. 

“When an actress tries to fend off the press, she’s temperamental, but when an act_ or_ does it, no one bats an eye. What do you think, Brandy?” 

The pit bull only answered with yet another little grumbling sneeze. 

It was hard not to grin at that. 

An index finger was already lifting his hand off of the back of greasy hair and rising into the air before pointing over to Sharon. How was it so easy to joke with someone he knew but not-knew for 2 days now? 

“Now-now-now that, _ that _ I remember.” 

“Brandy! Oh my God! Jake Cahill has actually seen one of my movies!” 

Rick couldn’t help but chuckle, that L.A. sun he used to dream about in high school entering both of his lungs. Man, was he stupid back then! But he really didn’t have a right to feel this good even with a few trembling nuts and bolts after everything. How could anyone feel like this after discovering their best friend laying in a pool of his own blood?! Rick knew he should be at the hospital right now although he was just there yesterday morning with those bagels. He always did hate cab rides and after getting home around 3:00 Saturday afternoon, that being around the time when he started calling after Cliff still completely sober! Rick kind of ended up calling a little more often than he should have on a late afternoon and that didn’t exactly help the hospital receptionists that much. 

“Mr. Dalton, we all love you here in reception, but your friend _ will _ be fine. Get some rest and you can come in to see Mr. Booth again but not so erratically as your phone calls, please!” 

They had no idea. 

Rick hated cabs and hated to put good people out not out of humility, but straight up embarrassment. Francesca was right. What kind of man was he? Tears were already sliding and even further down from aviators this time. Between the hot August heat and Sharon looking like some kind of golden Greek Goddess of her own kind of sun, well, she was going to discover he was a crier sooner than later. 

“Did you” and he just allowed his voice to shake, “D-did you finally get ahold of Roman?” 

“I did, thank God! I swear, if we didn't get married, I have a strong feeling Roman would do something VERY stupid. I hope the baby changes him for the better though and sometimes my patience _ does _ runs thin, but I’m holding onto hope that our marriage is strong enough for this little bean.” She didn’t look entirely convinced by the words coming out of her mouth, a blearier outline of Sharon Tate, _ Sharon Tate_ , gliding her fingertips across that 8-month bump. 

“I-I might have been a little out of it F-F-Friday night and I’m sure I asked, b-but what are you planning on naming that little guy of yours?” 

“Roman wants Oskar if it’s a boy and _ I _ get to choose if it’s a girl. I would definitely want to name this little bean Catherine for Catherine Deneuve. I LOVE Catherine Deneu—oh, Rick” and Sharon Tate, actress and wife of director Roman Polanski, already had both of the outlines of her pretty but wincing brown eyes right on him. Her mouth was pouted right open and stupid tears kept falling right out from underneath his stupid aviators. 

“W-well, aren’t we all cr-criers anyway?” somehow managed to chuckle right out as Rick slid his frames right off. Better to own up to it and get it out of the way. Both sides of his wrist holding the aviators wiped either side of his face multiple times, a quick little sniff coming right out from nowhere. “Y-you know,” Rick spoke down towards his slowly folding up sunglasses, “Baby Ozzy or Kitty-Cat mi-might get a teddy bear pretty s-soon.” 

“I’d like that, thank you Rick! You know,” a brighter lit Sharon looked back out towards the pool, scratching fingers not even stopping for a second at the top of Brandy’s head. The two lovely ladies were sharing the lounge chair together and that damned spoiled pit bull was practically snoring into Sharon’s hip. His head could only shake his head, the longer hair on his forehead swinging side to side. There was no imagining what Brandy’s owner would have to say about this. But Sharon’s naturally curly eyelashes were narrowing all over again, looking a little further off from her backyard. 

“_ I _ haven’t cried too hard since the scene when Jennifer died. Mark kept ignoring me so I kept going until I was completely worn out. If _ I _ had a choice, he’s definitely _ not _ a director _ I _ would want ever again. You know—” she groaned as she turned onto her side towards him and the fair cleavage just above her bright yellow triangular bikini top quickly bounced at the shift. He barely even noticed the best part on a woman’s body because it was Sharon Tate, Roman Polanski’s wife, looking directly back at him! Rick still needed to pinch himself every couple of minutes. “I have an idea. You look like you cry when you’re tense or stressed and maybe I can get a friend of a friend’s yoga instructor to help get you thro—” 

“Ah shi—p-p-pardon my French, Sharon, but th-that just sounds like what those cr-crazy hippies were into.” 

“But it’s not just hippies anymore, Rick,” Jennifer North looked even younger than 26, popping even higher up against the lounge chair like some teenage girl chatting to a girlfriend. The one hand she wasn’t petting Brandy with adjusted the hip of her equally yellow bikini bottom. The color suited her too well. “Serious! There are studios all over the country now! Even some of my friends in the music industry said there’s going to be some Hindu teacher at that huge musical festival in Upstate New York in two weeks! It’s only a suggestion though, but it could be good for you!” 

“C-could it h-help with drinking p-problems?” 

“I don’t see why not! But I’d have to start offering you pie from now on though” and all of that almost silvery blond hair flipped in his direction and tilting forward like she was attempting to look into the house somewhere. Even after three hours, Rick still needed to pinch himself. 

Sharon’s voice even had that same shining power as it practically radiated through his phone just hours ago with a “hi Rick! I was wondering if you and your wife or maybe just your wife wanted to come up to the house, maybe get some sun with me. Jay had an emergency name appointment at the salon at 3 and Fry had a meeting he just couldn’t miss _ and _ Abby left this morning for New York so I’m here at the house feeling a little skittish all by myself. It might be a little selfish and I’m sure your wife must still be panicking, but would either of you like to come over anyway? I’ll make you a drink!” 

Francesca was still panicking, but in a hotel somewhere. She was insisting that America wasn’t safe and she was leaving for Italy with or without Rick in the next week and if he didn’t come with her, she was going to divorce him and take him for all he was worth. If anything proved to Francesca how worthless Rick Dalton’s movie career really was! 

“Mrs. Dalton” didn’t even take all of her stuff anyway, loudly freaking out right into his ear through the freshly cleaned telephone. There was just no calming her down or even explaining through Rick’s own God-awful attempt at Italian that he just couldn’t magically drive any of it over. 

But that only jumpstarted Francesca’s yelling at him all over again, this time coming out a million miles a minute. “_ Che _ _ tipo _ _ d-d _ -Rick Dalton, _ what _ kind of man are _ you_ ?!” still chilled something underneath all of those shaking nerves. That was last appearance of Francesca’s English. What little he could decipher after that was just a bunch of Italian obscenities better suited for a sailor, some interjected around “Cliff” or “Cliff Booth”’s name. 

Cliff. 

Cliff. 

Damn it. 

“Ugh! Why does the phone have to be all the way in there? If it wasn’t such a big name, I’d call Jay right now to bring me back some pie. I’m starving! What do you think, Brandy, should we get a snack, Little Miss Machine Gun?” matted peach colored fingernails just kept scratching against an even louder snoring Brandy at Sharon’s half nude yellow hip. Cliff was going to have a field-day with his pit bull’s new nickname. 

Cliff. 

Fuck. 

“If you want, I... I can get y-you that phone, Sharon.” 

“I would hate to interrupt the snoozing bulldozer on my leg though.” 

“You sure _ do _ love that dog.” 

“How can you not? I wish I had a dog when was a kid, but my sisters and I were army brats. My Dad was always moving around everywhere, so we couldn’t have _ any _ pets. My parents said it would just be expensive added weight. This little bean however,” the hand petting Brandy left the top of her head and dropped at the highest apex of Sharon’s fair stomach glossed with tanning oil, “will _ definitely _ be luckier than I was with Saperstein.” 

If Sharon wasn’t already glowing like a fucking Christmas tree, she was practically blazing like the star the Three Wisemen followed as she bounced up a little, that fuller smile of hers widening right off of obscenely white teeth. Brandy sniffed loud finally coming out of her minutes-long siesta. Her nose was practically buried into the side of Sharon’s stomach, but long fingers were bringing one of Brandy’s paws even higher to the orb that encircled baby Polanski. 

“You feel that, Little Miss Machine Gun? Have you ever had babies?” 

Brandy looked back at Rick like she was scandalized, but baby Polanski must have had one powerful kick because before either him or Sharon knew it, she went flying off the chair and right back into the pool. Only Cliff Booth could train a dog who was absolutely terrified of a kicking baby to go at a guy’s junk. He was laughing even harder than Sharon was now, lesser terrified tears falling right down his face. 

“Oh Brandy, you’re the best. I’d love to adopt one of your babies if the time comes!” 

“Roman and Jay would have to gird their loins” came out of between chuckles. 

“Rick!” but Sharon didn’t seem to mind, holding onto her stomach and gasping. Hysterical tears were gliding right down to her jaw, “But you know” she sniffed all over again, both hands wiping either side of her famous face, “I _ am _ going to be on the phone with Michelle later, all you need to do is say yes if you’d be into the yoga.” 

If it did help at all with the drinking, then... 

* 

** _ Saturday, August 9 _ ** ** _ th_** ** _ ._********_ 7:30 AM. _ ** ** _ Dignity Health – California Hospital Medical Center. _ **

A paper-y sound crunched somewhere around his feet. Cliff was always more of a light sleeper and both eyes shot right open, a groan grunting him a little more awake. Fuck, he was sore, or was he? He honestly couldn’t tell. Icy sweat from the hospital’s super cold A/C still clung onto his back and gluing him down against these thin sheets and stiff mattress springs. Cliff tried shifting up the slanted pillow, but a few plastic tubes zig-zagging over his bare forearms felt like they had the consistency of fifty semis. 

“Fuck,” moaned right out as he tried sitting up again, “I’m never fuckin’ smokin’ an acid cigarette ever again.” 

“I’m holding you to that, buddy.” 

Rick was walking around the foot of the hospital bed and he just couldn’t help but grin. Even with his eyes half closed, Cliff could still recognize that voice. At least the pain in his left ass cheek felt like it was there but not all at the same time, clearly something even tastier than that acid cigarette being pumped right up into him. 

“Ho-how’re you feeling?” 

An ache was still there but not there as both hands planted down on either side of Cliff’s hips and slowly shuffling his lower back to the base of the pillow. A few grunts slid right out, the bedsheets practically crumpling like they were made out of newspaper, and eyes opened towards the left side of the bed. 

Rick was slowly sitting down on a white chair and fumbling with a sealed pack of cigarettes. Never could a man look more anxious and worried and yet extremely sober-looking all at the same time! But Rick _ was _ drinking an overly melted margarita as he was being wheeled out, this super sedated look all over him making absolutely no sense. 

“Like I’ve been run over by both Dennis Hopper _ and _ Peter Fonda at the same time.” 

“Yeah, I bet” and Rick pushed the chair even closer to the bed, the screeching peeling out like a near assault on Cliff’s own ears. That sound was enough to dry up the last of the remaining acid right out of his body. Dalton’s wedding ring reflected the dim hospital lighting as shaking fingers finally pulled one out, “Y-you seriously scared the shit out of me, man! Do-don’t fucking do that to m-me ever again!” The fine wonderful texture of a cigarette filter finally slid between Cliff’s lips without even asking on either end, Rick’s own lighter doing the honors. 

“Well” breathed out just enough smoke and with that, Cliff felt even more inside of his skin. But dropping his left hand was a bitch and yet not a bitch at the same time, shifting the cigarette into his right hand instead. This was going to suck, “with Spahn ranch officially being cleared out by noon, I think Brandy and I are currently out of work.” 

That sounded better in his head considering. 

“But seriously,” Rick’s shoulders were slowly sliding up his neck as he leaned forward onto both knees, “if you _ ever _ do anything stupid like that ever again,” the cigarette pack pointed right back towards Cliff, slapping the air word by word , “I better be there in the room _ doing _ the stupid with you.” 

“Whatever you say, partner.” 

He couldn’t help but grin all over again, bringing his left hand to both lips and forgetting the cigarette was in his right. Rick definitely caught the flub, that sober fucker, and a scoff quirked a half-smile although feeling seconds away from panicking. It wasn’t too surprising. Rick Dalton had to face his fears of taxis and hospitals all in one morning and Cliff almost felt bad for him, his right, _ right _ hand pulling the cigarette back out. 

Being left-handed was officially going to suck. 

Rick pulled an empty Dixie cup even closer on the bedside table without even asking and the reach at least made the whole smoking right-handed a little easier. A few silent minutes just went on by, simply breathing in and out a thankfully regular cigarette. Rick refused the offering as he drew it back to his, right, _ right _ side. Cliff was almost disappointed. What better than a quiet _ and _the first cigarette of the day between friends? 

The shoulders of his bright brown leather jacket slumped even closer to each knee. 

Damn it, this was it, Rick was about to get emotional, but then he really couldn’t blame him. He was allowed. Cliff managed to lose his own ability somewhere between learning how to walk and his first fuck. The cigarette habitually went back into his left hand. 

“I... uh” and the sleeve of that all-too familiar bright brown leather jacket stretched out towards the long rectangular mini table at the foot of the hospital bed, “I... I b-brought you bagels!” 

The only sound in that whole room besides the echo of an EKG somewhere further down the hall was Rick’s palm slapping down a jean-clad thigh. 

“That’s good, Dalton. Thanks,” and a hand shot right off of the papery bed sheets onto that shoulder of that fine expensive leather, softly clapping at the scruff on his cheek. Rick even _ felt _ 100% sober although not as clean-shaven like usual. Another gentle pat went at his face before dropping back down, the depths of his stomach growling for that bag of bagels. “So, how’s Francesca holding up?” 

Rick almost teetered at the place of no emotional return, scoffing something like a chuckle down to his knees. 

“To-took only one suitcase out of her wh-whole army of them for a hotel,” those movie star blue eyes genuinely grinned right back into his, clearly rewarding the clever coming out of his own mouth, “Sh-she doesn’t feel safe here in California, s-so she’s go-goin' back to Italy, an-and I quote, “with or without me.” Man, I have a fe-feeling Francesca’s go-goin' to di-di-divorce me.” 

“Christ, sorry, buddy.” 

“D-don’t be. I..I... I think I had the f-feeling it was gonna happen wh-wh-when I c-came down from the Polanski house last night,” and that boy-ish Jake Cahill look came shining right out of that face Cliff had been studying for far too long now. The maturing weight on his face practically melted down and away from the smaller blue eyes, Rick’s smile wrinkling little ripples up on his cheeks. “I still can’t believe that happened” ridiculous and overgrown mod-looking bangs shook from side to side, those annoying movie star blue eyes half closing before zeroing back into his, “I actually m-met Sharon Tate, Cliff, and Jay, h-her ex, but they’re more friends than anything now. H-h-he-he’s a hairstylist, said he wanted to g-ge-get his hands on my hair sometime.” 

“Huh, a stylist who isn’t queer.” 

That was even more of a quandary than a man and a woman being friends, that blessed stream of smoke running right through both of his nostrils. Pain only slightly zinged and yet didn’t all at the same time as the cigarette accidentally slid back into his left hand. 

“N-no kidding. Man, I still ca-can’t believe that _ all _ of la-last ni-ni-night happened.” 

Rick’s elbows stood on the mattress a little too quickly, and this time _ it _ was really it, his left ass cheek aching against the flexing metal springs. Cliff groaned right out on impact and everything burned and throbbed and pounded all at the same time even less with whatever was pumping through his system and there was Rick moving the bed all over again just to maneuver off of it. 

“Fuck, I... I’m sorry, Cliff. Do-do you know wh-when you’re gonna get ou-out of here?” That old TV cowboy-boss, _ ex _-boss of his looked like he was five seconds away from crying. 

“Hm” his head thankfully tilted towards the right side, shifting the cigarette between hands, “I’d imagine sometime between talkin’ to the cops again and a Jell-O cup around noon,” that fine beautiful texture of a filter slid back in between a grin. Some of Rick’s tears thankfully evaporated a little, something like a laugh huffing off of his Adam’s apple. 

“An-and you really th-think after, w-well, a-af-aft-_ after _you’re gonna to be OK wi-with the cops?” and both of those eyebrows above those dumb movie star blue eyes lifted although a little less locked onto him, clearly insinuating “The Wicked Witch of the West.” 

How was Hollywood gossip so stupid and yet necessary all at the same time? 

“Hey,” grumbled right out even cheerier than Cliff expected, both of his arms slowly shrugging out wide. He immediately regretted that, the left arm quickly coming back to his side, the right one slapping down on Rick’s shoulder, “the hippies up at George’s broke into _ your _ house , buddy . I’d say what Brandy and I did was in self defense . If anything, the LAPD should give _ our _ girl an honorary badge!” Another good hard pat ended yet another conversation that could veer off towards that green-faced bitch. 

“I-it wasn’t j-just you two” slowly drew right out, those eyes sparking even bluer before humbly sinking towards Rick’s lap. It wasn’t too hard to not miss an almost half-grin that wanted to proudly eat shit. 

“Rick Dalton” that damn name stretched out even longer through an exhale of smoke. 

That dumb old cowboy was still fighting that shit-eating grin all over his face as it just kept spreading, showing off that million-dollar toothy smile to both of his knees. 

The cigarette thankfully between the fingers of his _ right _ hand pointed into that downturned face. He remembered hearing this last night although at a distance _ and _ while crashing even harder from the acid. This was something he needed to _ really _ experience sober. 

“Rick _ fucking _ Dalton, what _ did _ you do?” a regular tobacco cigarette bobbed in Rick’s direction. 

“Y-y-yo-you know w-wh-when I... I... I kept the “14 Fists of McCluskey” flamethrower?” 

“Rick-fucking-Dalton" whispered out just too, too pleased by this crazy fucker, Cliff’s head shaking from side to side absolutely amazed. 

Another shoulder clap was enough to make his old boss grin like an even brighter firework went off somewhere in the back of his face although pointing down to his knees. “I’m proud of you, brother.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

“Now gimme those bagels, Dalton, I’m starvin’!” 

“Rick Dalton just called _ again _” the prettier day nurse annoyingly groaned a few inches away from his door sometime around 4:00. 

If Cliff was anything like Brandy, this was where his ears would have perked up just at that name. Two more nurses sighed in from the hallway, one from the other prettier day nurse but not pretty enough to fuck and from the older one who looked a lot like Ma Kettle. She was a riot and Cliff really liked her. 

“Seriously?” 

“How many times has that been just this afternoon?” 

“At least three.” 

“With the way _ he’s _ been checking in, you would think they were brothers or faggots or something.” 

A chortle softly choked the back of his throat, pressing the back of a left, right, _ right _ fist to his mouth. Only a woman could come up with that kind of perception! 

Their voices started going even further up the hallway and knuckles finally fell back to the shitty hospital sheets with a soft crunch. Cliff finally laughed, peeling right out through the dead silence as his head dropped back at the top of the pillow. He couldn’t have cared even less about the freshly stabbing but not stabbing state of his ass and hip. 

* 

This was a bad idea. 

Was this a bad idea? The loud beeping alarm wasn’t even making up his groggy mind for him either as it kept screeching like that hippy from Friday night. A fist immediately shut the clock up, Rick burying his face back into that silk pillow case. 

It was the tiny blonde from that Mamas and the Papas band who gave Sharon the yoga instructor’s number. “Yogini Gia Rati-Jones. 408- *** - ****” _ and _ she specialized in taking fucking house calls too! 

Another groan near vibrated the pillow underneath him. 

Cliff sure as hell wasn’t going to hear a second of any of this when he got to Dignity Health tomorrow afternoon! 

Fuck Schwarz...s. 

It was rare that Rick woke up with the “fuck Schwarz” chant in his head, but it wasn’t too surprising after crying into a full medium sized pizza last night then making a whiskey sour to only throw it up after one sip. 

The old man actually showed up to his place yesterday afternoon with a heavy in a much more local “mobsters on a cattle ranch” gig. But it was a “supporting of a supporting heavy.” The lackey. Rick couldn’t decide whether to violently sweat through his clothes or add to the tinier blood stains still on the rug. This was the best an international manager could find for him?! He almost wanted to say no. In that exact second, Rick almost missed the more regimented television schedules, but after “F.B.I.,” television had even less use for him now. Movies were his only option now. 

“Now I won’t lie to you,” and Schwarzs was leaning towards his knees on Rick’s leather couch, pointing his cigar directly into “Rick fucking Dalton”’s face. A large crack sounded right off of the old man’s back, but that cigar smell was about to make him vomit like that whiskey sour did. Schwarz’s thick index finger tapped the script that laid on the coffee table between them. “The part is kind of shit, but we’re going to have to make do with this now until we really win over Hollywood.” 

And how many times was Rick going to have to hear that until his imminent retirement? 

Seriously, fuck Schwarzs. 

Fuck Schwarz and all of that cigar smoke that could make his mouth water but made his stomach feel like it was taking the bullets those stupid hippies should have put in him. It was one thing to be a has-been, but another to be a has-been with a fucking clueless agent! How _ did _ he always manage to place all of the weight on himself? That answer was too easy. 

Of course, it was a good cocktail of that stupid fucking midwestern ethic and that single exact second of feeling legitimate by fellow actors or directors without having to actually talk about the craft out loud! It was just a pure in the moment kind of thing. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to believe that _ something _ burst out of his body like some kind of orgasm every time he got a response like that! Just one good, curt, responsive recognition without going on and on. 

Rick hadn’t woken up feeling this good in months despite the divorce proceedings, little blood stains still on the rug and ceiling, the broken patio doors, Cliff. 

Cliff. 

He rolled onto his back, the heels of both hands pressing up against closed eyes until he saw stars. But then it was only the morning. In a few hours, “fuck Schwarz” would return to that regularly scheduled “has-been” chant. 

Rick needed an agent with just a few more Hollywood ties! He may have yelled and grumbled hating the language barriers in the usual drunken stupor, but that’s what an actor gets when going international. It builds up a better credibility with the film industry here. Schwarzs would have known Rick’s name would be out of the papers in a matter of days or even hours! Any work offered in this tiny window would be legitimately a higher casting than a fucking “supporting of a supporting heavy!” Rick always did hate when a role was marketed to him in nicer terms than it really was. But having a more international name wasn’t enough unless Hollywood saw him as a perspective movie star! 

But that just sounded selfish, Rick always finding himself thinking ahead whether it was legitimate worry or just strategy all over again. After all, there had to have been early twenty-somethings who probably looked up to him when they were younger. Maybe there were a few of those younger adults in the industry now wondering what happened to that guy on their collectible lunchboxes, not even completely knowing that it takes both an actor _ and _ an agent who actually gives a shit to keep grabbing at the good parts at the right time. It required actual work! But it did _ not _ help there was a kind of renaissance going on, Hollywood slowly shifting back to movies and even more naturally acting casts. Fucking Actors Studio! Maybe there was some hope as long as this whole being scared right out of drinking and smoking held out. 

Heavy panting breath was beating down on his face and Rick could not have been more thankful for taking Brandy to a pet groomer Monday. You couldn’t even tell that Brandy even had human skin or blood in between her teeth now, the gory reminder officially getting him out of bed and into the shower. 

The doorbell promptly rang at 7:30 and a nervous sweat immediately took the place of that good long hot shower. “Rick fucking Dalton,” capable of frying up a hippy with his “14 Fists of McCluskey” flamethrower, was actually nervous over a few dumb bending poses and deeply breathing! But he already tried the deep breathing, it not even doing a single favor for that fucking stutter. All it really did was delay the more important words from coming out of his mouth. This was just getting so stupid, panic becoming so second nature at this point that the hand grabbing his doorknob didn’t even shake. 

“Yogini Gia Rati-Jones" looked like the very definition of what Rick’s mother would have called “an itty-bitty slip of a thing.” She was younger than Rick thought she was, only just a few inches shorter than he was standing right there in his doorway with two bright yellow mats under one long rail thin but muscular arm. The Yogini looked nothing even close like a hippy, only that she probably came from another country. Wavy long black-brown hair flowed down across tinier breasts towards a slightly curved waist dressed in a blue-gray tank top that matched her darker blue eyes and jeans. A smile was slowly taking over her slightly angular oval face like, well, a fucking flamethrower even in its light brown color. This Gia-woman had a great smile before she even said anything, but it didn’t read like she knew him. Rick knew _ that _ look far too well! 

“Rick Dalton” she spoke so matter-of-fact, stretching out a creamier brown hand. 

This Gia-woman also had a great smooth but throaty voice not made out of cigarettes. 

She sounded like she could be a singer and a hand naturally moved out towards hers. 

“Yogini Gia Rati-Jones" came out just as pragmatically. Rick knew he butchered her title, keeping himself from beratingly closing his eyes. 

“Oh, just Gia, please! You know, my father learned how to speak English through “Bounty Law!”” 

“No kiddin’.” 

Rick had never heard anything like that before, his mouth still open with the surprise. Even a few shocked tears wanted to come right out. Maybe dumb western TV shows could really mean a little more than just distracting back country families in the Midwest from their boring and shitty lives. This was the official fire under his ass to nail this “mobsters on a cattle ranch” audition later even with this God-awful casting. But Rick was still shaking her long thin fingers, his other hand gesturing into a mostly sanitized living room. “Ex-excuse my manners, Miss Gia. I’m af-afraid I was born in-inside a barn.” 

Gia’s own lifted out of his and shrugging upward along with a warmer toned shoulder. 

“I’ve received similar reactions at extremely private appointments just like this,” that lower voice kept softly grumbling right out the further she came into the living room, “my father is extremely fluent now thanks to CBS and NBC!” 

“I feel I sh-should whip up an autograph for your Dad b-before you leave, Miss Gia.” 

“If you could hold that thought until we are done with our time together, Mr. Dalt—” 

“Rick, please.” 

“Rick, but my policy is to hold off on more personal interaction only at a minimum on my part until we are completely done with each other. I only wanted to get that out of the way just now, but,” and “Miss Gia” shifted a little closer towards his shoulder. She smelled like lavender and lemon and Rick only hoped she couldn’t sense the nervous sweat practically bathing every inch underneath his gray T-shirt. “Between you and me, I think my father always enjoyed “Bounty Law” the best.” 

“That’s right sweet of you to say, Miss Gia. I... I really am floored. M-may I,” an index finger managed to point towards the large rolled up mats under her arm, not even caring about the tiny stutter. “T-take those for you?” 

“Thank you and please, just Gia. Now, where should we set up?” 

“I really didn’t think that far ahead, I-I guess” 

But Rick turned around and found himself looking at the exact spot where he found his best friend bleeding out all over his stupid fucking rug. Cliff was near passing out but somehow a “hey” slurred right out of him like he couldn’t feel shit. The corners of Rick’s eyes found all of those dead bodies strewn all over his living room, but the exact centers were staring at nothing else but a slowly maniacally laughing Cliff. 

Of course, Cliff Booth would get high and start beating up on the bad guys, he shouldn’t have expected anything less! 

Rick never wanted to laugh and cry and punch that dummy all at the same time than at that moment, Cliff’s head swaying upwards grinning a big dopey smile. “I-I think the acid cigarette is finally wearing off. Sorry about the state of your living room, man, guess you could use the money you used to pay me with to clean this sorry mess up.” It didn’t sound as passive aggressive as it could have looked on paper, but with that dumb voice of his, Cliff Booth could make anything sound charming. Tears were already starting to make their star appearance at 7:00 in the fucking morning! 

“I-I guess where ever looks good to you, M-M-Gia.” 

Gia’s eyes winced concerned towards him before scanning the living room. 

Rick quickly wiped at his eyes before she turned to face him again. 

“I can take the wood floor here in front of the kitchen and if we could move the chair out of the way a little, you can be here. A little extra padding is always good for beginners.” 

A fresher nervous sweat was starting to tickle at every inch of his arm pit hair. “Rick fucking Dalton” was already sweating through his shirt without even doing a single yoga pose in the time it took for Gia to change into her leggings in the bathroom. 

“I hope” echoed out from the acoustics down the hallway, “I hope when or if you become more confident with the practice, we could,” and Gia’s naked feet were slowly gliding across the wood panels of his living room as she tied all of that hair back, “take this outside. Your pool is beautiful.” 

Rick wasn’t even going to make a comment about the fried hippy bits still at the bottom of it. He still hadn’t gone close to it since that Friday night, the pool cleaners taking their sweet time to get back to him, but those long and gracious fingers were gesturing down towards the mat he rolled out on top of his rug. 

“Th-thank you M-M-Gia. I-I'm afraid I don’t know much about yoga o-only that it’s a hippy th-thing but I guess also _ no__-no__t _ a hippy thing,” each stupid staggering syllable sounded even more stupid the more it came out so fucking clipped. Shaking legs were sinking down against the yellow rubber mat made even softer by the rug underneath. It was the same rug he found Cliff on with a knife wedged right in his hip, the same rug he found a dead female on, the same rug human blood was still lightly stained all over. 

“You _ are _ right, Rick, but it depends the _ kind _ of yoga,” longer and far limbered black leggings expertly crossed on her own mat, equally creamy brown feet lifting and propping up on either knee. “What I do is help people focus on their breath, but I promise I will make this a little more cut and dry with you. It won’t be any extremely regimented breathing suggestions after a while or the proper names of poses as _ I _ know them. Now with actors,” one hip rocked and then to the other like Gia was almost nesting against her mat, “I usually start with a technique that will bring in stillness and help melt away more needless thoughts. I have a feeling you’ll need it after the weekend you’ve had.” 

If Gia only knew. 

But her eyes were starting to close, both of her palms pressing against one another in the exact center of blue-gray dressed tiny breasts. A deep breath hollowed right out of her as Gia slightly bowed her forehead towards fingertips. 

Rick could not have felt more awkward. 

One of his own hips shifted more out of nervousness than nesting. 

Was he supposed to do something right now? Was he supposed to try to move his feet towards his knees like Gia had? Both of his wrists and clutched fists hinged at each thigh never feeling more confused in his entire life save for a few hangovers feeling like he was missing something from the night before. Rick still felt like he was just going along with the flow of things since Friday night, like he was having a dream underwater. 

“Rick, you can decide whether to keep your eyes opened or closed,” and that pretty smooth voice dipped a little lower, sounding even more musical as Gia’s words almost seemed to sway back and forth, “but I would like you to just start naturally inhale as you would throughout your day.” 

A smoker’s inhale tried the best it could, exhaling a little too quickly. 

“Great, Rick. Now if you can inhale like that again and just hold it in your lungs for 10 seconds. Take all the time you need, let it happen when it will,” but it took at least three breaths until an exhale finally glued itself against the back of his ribs. 

10 … 9 … 8 … 7 ... 

He could almost feel the days-old nicotine building up in the back of his throat and tickling the sensation of a too violent cough. It was fine not smoking as much as Rick had been, but there was no imagining what it would be like for a far more chain-smoking Cliff if he was ever nuts to go along with any of this yoga stuff. 

5 ... 4 … 3 ... 

Cliff. 

Fuck. 

A loud cough interrupted everything, burning up his throat and tingling the sinuses. 

“Don’t worry Rick,” and his eyes didn’t even realize they had closed, hearing “Miss Gia”’s voice hum right out in that swaying movement, “it will happen when it will and even then, it’s a completely spontaneous thing. Things are rarely linear, but you’re doing a great job. Now I want you to do that again and please, take your time.” 

10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … 

“Down goes you, down goes your career as a leading man...” 

But there had to have been a lawyer he hadn’t alienated with his whole revoked driver’s license situation! Francesca really had the gall to full-out divorce him than his suggested annulment. It was _ not _ his fault they had not fucked until the wedding night and even _ that _ celebration was mediocre, but that was probably the bourbon talking. 

5 … 4 … 3 … 

There was still the pool and possibly an even better carpet cleaning service. 

Who was he to think he could do anything else but the supporting heavies or even the fucking “supporting heavy of a supporting heavy?” 

There were also the fucking patio doors, the glass people having boarded one of them up Saturday. Rick hadn’t heard from them since! 

His legs felt stupid crisscrossing like Rick Dalton was some kind of five-year-old! 

Fuck. 

2 … 1. 

Both eyes shot wide open and surprisingly lighter than usual. But Gia was smiling just over his shoulder, Rick following her eyeline. Of course, Brandy was relaxing right on the middle cushion of his bright brown leather couch looking so pleased with herself. Those ridiculously short ears of hers were tilting a big dumb wide-mouthed smile towards no one else but Gia. Rick near prayed she wouldn’t land that tongue down on his sofa. Did Brandy always have some kind of loving connection with women before Cliff found her? It wouldn’t be very surprising that he would find a much sweeter bitch post- “Wicked Witch of the West” as Cliff used to call his wife. 

Cliff. 

“I guess _ I _ was the one who got distracted!” Gia near bubbled a laugh right into his ear. 

“I... I guess she holds so-some kind of p-p-power over women or s-something.” 

Even the turn back towards the Yogini felt just as weightless as his eyelids. 

“Oh, I don’t mind. My religion doesn’t hate all of that as much as Christianity does.” 

“Huh?” 

“Oh,” a single creamy brown hand arched in the air, inches away from the dark brown counter top. It flicked back to Gia’s lap almost as fluid as those waving words of hers. “It doesn’t matter. Would you like to try that last breath again or would you like to move on?” 

“M-maybe one more.” 

“Well, the best things _ do _ happen in threes,” Gia started swaying her hips down all over again, “Now would you like me to lead you in or...” 

“I think I... I would like to tr-try it by m-myself” came out so naturally before both of Rick’s eyes closed. If he had known any better, he could almost have felt a smile radiating all over him instead of Brandy this time. An exhale fell right out like he was rehearsing or getting into character before a shot, a breath gliding inwards slowly than usual... 

Rick supposed neither that Sharon or that little blonde Mama told Gia he was a smoker. 

10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 

This was a bad idea. 

Sharon better not have told Jay about any of this! 

6 … 5 … 4 … 3 … 

_ Was _ this a bad idea? 

But his stomach finally stopped churning, thick worry hovering over his shoulders. 

… 2 

1

Both eyes shot wide open feeling like Sharon tossing her blond hair right up into the air. 

Even his lungs felt lighter as an inhale shook its way back in, but there was still a cough itching the back of his throat. Rick was a smoker; he should have been gagging by now! But then he hadn’t had a cigarette since that post-Francesca phone call Saturday afternoon and even then, it tasted just as acidic as that beer at the Polanskis. 

What kind of man was he without the alcohol or the smoking?! 

The image of Gia sitting right across from him on the yellow mat over his dark wood floor looked slightly blurred from the tears that begged to come out. She was smiling even wider, unmade up full lips spreading practically up to the tops of her cheeks. The Yogini looked like she aged even younger with that bright grin, Gia’s angular jaw looking even rounder the more that smile just lit up. Rick was going to look away the second she moved or twitched just to blink away the proof that “Rick fucking Dalton” was a crier. How many of her past actor clients had cried in front of her? A cough finally came barking right out, Rick’s fist at his mouth. But Gia still was not moving or looking away any time soon, it not looking like she was trying to encourage or phase all of these stupid tears out. 

“Now that we’ve done everything in threes, would you like to try something else?” 

“Three just happens to be my lucky number, Miss Gia.” 

That was a lie, but it sounded charming enough. 

He was so fucking pathetic, sounding so much like Cliff just then in that slight accent. 

A scoff down to his own lap dressed in black sweat pants brought fingertips to the bridge of his nose. Now was as good of a time as any to try to pretend he had never almost cried in the first place. 

“Y-y’know, I thought there would be some of those crazy bendy poses you people do today.” 

That Yogini could have smiled any wider, both of her hands smoothing down either thigh until palms cupped both black-dressed knees. 

“It’s usually the immediate perception, Rick,” she breathed right out with a groan as shoulder blades pointed right up towards the start of the dark chestnut counter behind her. With a quick arch forward then sitting back up even straighter, “But, we can always just focus on your breath as long as you need to. I have noticed with less extroverted actors, there’s more thoughts flying around in their bat caves, I definitely noticed that with you as well. May I make a suggestion?” 

“Technically, you’re the boss for the next forty minutes, Miss Gia.” 

Even that slid right out like Cliff. 

Fuck. 

Cliff. 

“I guess I am” and if she could have straightened up even higher, Gia looking tauntingly proud of herself. Rick was beginning to really like her and maybe that was why he couldn’t immediately find her sexually interesting. If women didn’t lay it all right out there in their first impressions, then Rick usually didn’t find a good reason to sleep with them. “Your hands are a little too gathered up on your lap, if you drop them anywhere above or on the knee, your stomach will have more room to expel your breath.” 

And Gia wasn’t wrong as palms grabbed at the cotton material just above his knees. 

A less yoga-like breath actually did flex even more weightless from here. 

What was happening to him?! 

“Now, this time I want you inhale again and hold the exhale for fifteen seconds. During that time, I want you to really feel the stillness around you. No one is here to hurt or harm or manipulate you in any way, you are safe. If you do experience any racing thoughts, I want you to replace them all with the word safe. You can pretend your thoughts as being typed or written out on a piece of paper and take a red marker or a rubber audit stamp and write or stamp “safe” just over the top of them.” 

Both eyelids flicked shut feeling even more mountains lighter than usual. 

* 

** _ Thursday, August 14 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ 4:30 PM. _ ** ** _ Dignity Health – California Hospital Medical Center_** ** _ ._**

“And Cliff Booth stands to fight another day!” and Rick fucking Dalton was on the other side of the hospital hallway with both arms of his darker brown leather jacket spreading wide like one of those wildly gesturing Italian directors of his. Between the slate-gray concrete underneath loafers, Cliff’s own duffel bag next to them, and the overly bright hospital fluorescent overhead, Rick didn’t really look like he belonged on this kind of a set. But then ol’ Bounty Law did look a little something, outstretched arms crossing over his chest like they were near weightless over yet another one of those dumb turtleneck T-shirts. Today’s flavor was a dark blue, “You’re up!” 

“Yep” groaned out just from balancing on one foot off and on for twenty minutes. Thank God Dr. Sullivan had some dumbbells Cliff could swing while dying of boredom. But a nerve on the outside of his left leg zinged hard, pressing down against Raymond’s shoulder. The stocky physical therapist’s assistant looked like he was a wrestler when he was a kid, he could take it. Cliff liked the guy, Raymond a fellow Tennessean and thankfully a far less shitty butternut than the ones he managed to escape from. 

A hiss whizzed right through his teeth, stopping just inches from his hospital room and Rick was already on the opposite side of the door. 

That quick little fuck. 

“They’re having me do a little physical therapy every couple-a afternoons and Raymond here,” his palm on the assistant’s shoulder cap clapped right down, “lets me have a cigarette during since the nurses confiscated the pack _ you _ gave me.” 

“Raymond, you’re truly doing the Lord’s work with this guy,” that old cowboy didn’t look as old and even more sober than last Saturday morning. Those stupid bright blue eyes looked even more different than usual. But Rick was already leaning forward to shake Raymond’s hand, the little move also not looking as heavy as usual. Cliff was seconds away from rounding a “what the fuck?!” 

“It’s really an honor, Mr. Dalton!” 

Raymond definitely had that star struck look all over his dark round face, the dirty smell of greasier longer black curls shaking back and forth and exhaling right into Cliff’s mouth. 

“Hey, n-n-now don’t give me any of th-that “Mr. Dalton” bullshit, Ray,” That dumb Hollywood charm was turned on and it was bright, dropping Cliff’s duffel down right there in the hallway. “Rick please!” and Rick shook his hand even firmer, slapping the other higher up on the assistant’s shoulder. 

“Alright, Rick! You good to walk now, Cliff?” 

“C-can I help?” and a more clean-shaven chin was nodding in his direction like he was there but not there! 

“Oh, c'mon, Rick, I don’t need any help from you, I feel fine!” But smooth leather was already brushing towards the left side of his neck before Cliff even knew it and his feet were moving underneath him sandwiched between his old buddy and the new one thankfully still on his left. 

“Sure, fine enough to have Ray glued on your hip,” the old bastard scoffed closer into that ear. 

“Slowly there, Rick, the squats aren’t his best friend right now” and Cliff was laid down so quickly and efficiently, he didn’t have time to shake his head or roll his eyes. 

“Is he being _ this _ stubborn with everyone around here?” 

A moan fell right out on impact after having stood for so long and that was saying something considering the lack of a good flexing couch underneath him. _ Any _ soft mattress or couch would be a goddamned Godsend! But Cliff’s hands and legs were itching downright awkward. Of course, he was being fussed over _ and _ being talked about like he wasn’t even in the room! Fingers twitched like they needed to ruffle through a magazine or, hell, another cigarette although having just finished one in the physical therapy room. There was nothing else to do but stare at the red and white stripes on his too familiar duffel bag dropping down on the small table that hinged over the bed. 

“Nah, Rick,” thankfully stopped him from glaring bullets over to Rick for clearly having gone to his trailer, Raymond’s steady hand dropping down on his left shoulder, “Looks like it’s just you although that Nurse Rodriguez doesn’t like our guy that much.” 

“Probably because she hasn’t found that right woman yet” groaned out, his right ankle crossing over the other. Eyes almost winced shut hearing a scoff from the right side of this shitty hospital bed. 

“Oh Cliff,” Raymond gently clapped down all over again, the mixture of that greasy hair and strong cologne practically suffocating down Cliff’s throat, “Never change. But seriously, Mr. … I... I mean, Rick, it’s amazing to meet you, man, but Dr. Sullivan needed me back five minutes ago. And you, buddy,” shorter meatier fingers softly gripped his shoulder cap, “only one more session to go! When you get out of here, I’m buying you a beer!” 

“Keep it real, chief,” a finger gun cocked locked and loaded towards his fellow butternut, Raymond pointing a meaty index finger right back at him until disappearing around the corner. His neck practically cracked turning so quickly over to the poor bastard who really didn’t deserve to go to his trailer. 

But Rick Dalton still looked a little something. The chair legs underneath him squealed as they pushed further back, both of his loafers and denim clad shins crossing on top of the bed not too far away from his own. He really was moving a little less stiff than usual. This was just a little too weird. If it weren’t for whatever this was and throwing a cigarette into the combination, Cliff would have felt like he hanging out in Jake Cahill’s Spahn Ranch trailer all over again or even on his couch just shooting the shit before wives and dogs and whatever the flying fuck was going on on this cowboy’s goddamned face! 

A pack of his favorite brand came sliding out of a jacket pocket and while that was a pretty sight, both eyelids still winced. 

Relaxed. 

That was the word! 

The man looked uncharacteristically relaxed. 

Not entirely happy, but relaxed. Maybe even a little less sleep deprived than usual. It suited him. This was even better than the usually drunk and sometimes crying mess, Rick slowly sliding out of his leather jacket with a groan revealing those stupid dark blue T-shirt sleeves. But how does a man _ move _ relaxed anyway? It didn’t matter, but on Rick, it just looked weird. He even fell back into the very uncomfortable-looking chair like he wasn’t thinking about his goddamned motivation or line. But Rick was narrowing his eyes and tilting all of that longer brown hair looking too much like Brandy when she’s confused. 

“What?” 

“I dunno, you just look like something. Are one of those for me?” 

“Yep, just for you, buddy” and the cellophane around the pack crumpled while being slowly torn off, “Bu-but between the fact I haven’t gotten any since m-my we-wedding night and not ha-having drank an-anything si-since the P-Polanski hou—” 

“Holy shit, Dalton!” 

“I... uh-uh...” Rick shook his head back and forth a little more violently, swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed and looking down to liberating one of those cigarettes, “b-b-buh-by the way, I... I got your clothes from the lau-laundry department here S-Saturday, made sure to get them to an Italian cleaner in Beverly Hills,” a cigarette was sliding between Cliff’s already propped open lips, Rick waving one hand towards the door before leaning in with his lighter, “I had the feeling th-they w-would know h-how to get bl-blood stains out pretty easy.” 

Cliff could do nothing but just sit there and bend into the flame. 

What in the ever-lovin' fuck? 

Cliff still couldn’t do anything, taking the cigarette into his left hand and exhaling smoke. The slowly repairing nerves on his left side didn’t hurt as much if he was reclining a little like this, Raymond not just whistling dixie over squats not being his best friend right now. But there was no telling how soon Rick was about to break from clearly avoiding explaining himself, leaning back into the chair and brushing a hand through that overgrown European cut. It was little gestures like this that really did make his partner look like a kid all over again. 

“I, um, I... I also got Brandy into a groomer’s on-on Monday, go-got all of that hippy junk out of her teeth.” 

Eyes narrowed the closest they could while still looking Rick Dalton square in the eye. 

Again, what in the ever-lovin' fuck? 

This time his right hand went up to his mouth without even holding the cigarette in that hand, Rick noticing all over again with a little quirk of a smile. 

“Bu-bu-but I re-re-requested for them to not do much else and nothing too,” a hand went flying back up into the air and rotating a few times like he was trying to come up with a word, “frou-frou-y. Lady Machine Gun l-looks right beautiful, Cliff, you-you’d be proud.” 

“Uh, come now?” but the pointed tips of his moccasins went a little blurry. The left hand lifted to his mouth with the cigarette this time thankfully interrupting the little moment. If it weren’t for this random nickname, there almost went 40-some years of no crying! But Rick _ did _ love Brandy like she was his own and going _ that _ far was really something. An eyebrow managed to quirk in that old cowboy’s direction like that little reaction never happened, “Lady Machine Gun?” bounced the tipping paper between his lips. 

“O-oh right, I... I actually t-took Brandy up t-to Sharon’s on Sunday,” that better clean-shaven chin of his nodded towards the door like the Polanskis house was just outside the door, “Sh-she was alone and sh-shaken up by ev-everything from Friday night, so-so I thought what better th-than taking one of m-my two security de-detail?” Those extremely sober eyes grinned in that rewarding kind of way Rick does when he realizes he’s being clever, a finger gun quickly lifting in Cliff’s direction. This time the cigarette went into his right hand and discarding the ashes on the floor between the bed and the side table, “B-by the way, Sharon Tate is i-in love with _ your _ dog, buddy.” 

“As she should be, but I’m glad to know Brandy is in a stable lesbian relationship right now.” 

Rick Dalton just shook his head with a smile towards his knees, the longer frizzier strands of his dark hair flying around at the top of his scalp. Both hands combed right through it all, the left ring finger holding no semblance of ever having been married, and with that, ol’ Bounty Law really did look ten years younger. 

“Y-you _ seriously _ took her to a pet groomer?” 

“W-well, if the LAPD wo-wouldn’t give her that hon-honorary badge, fi-figured this was the next best thing. B-besides,” groaned right out as both of those hands cupped the back of Rick’s head, both of his crossed ankles flexing an inch closer to his own. “Brandy wa-was the one that go-got the percentage off, fo-for once it wasn’t _ my _ name and th-the little girl behind the register _ did _ tell me that sh-she was a good girl the entire time.” 

“Of course, she was, but you really didn’t need to do that.” 

That was a lie to himself and Cliff knew it. Rick fell in love with Brandy the second he laid those dumb movie star bright blue eyes on her. Every chance he got, Rick did try to spoil her right rotten and Cliff never really minded it. Even if he got a job out of state or whatever was bound to happen down the wide-open road, Brandy would keep the old cowboy company. Cliff didn’t matter. He would gladly leave one of the few best girls of his life with Rick Dalton even at the risk of Brandy possibly gaining 15 Italian pounds. But it was really something treating her like that when there were impending money problems and divorce expenses _ and _ the actor possibly being in yet another spiral of an identity crisis! Tears almost started foaming all over again, both of his eyes slamming right shut. Cliff’s cigarette merely dangled right there between his lips. 

Fuck. 

That goddamned cowboy being so good to the both of them! 

“W-we joke about her deservin’ an LAPD ba-badge and all of th-that shit all the t-time but _ I _ c-ca-an’t do-do the respon-s-s-sible thing an-and make sure hippy isn’t l-lo-lodged all up in her fuckin’ gu-gums?” 

Oh boy. 

Rick’s throat sounded like it was slowly closing up even from behind closed eyelids and about five seconds away from really tapping out the more defensive tears. Cliff almost laughed at the rhetorical question, always being the one to spot the darker humor in life. But his head dropped back against the top of the pillow instead, a left, right, _ right _ hand blindly going for the cigarette. 

Cliff was nowhere near ready to explain himself even if he really wanted to. What was the point when Rick was about close himself up in that spiraling turtle shell of his the second his mouth started to move? His partner’s aggressive breathing went down in those silent minutes or seconds, Cliff’s eyes slowly opening onto the large square ceiling panels. They could do nothing else but grin right back towards the beginnings of Rick entering that turtle shell. 

“You alright now, buddy?” 

Those smaller blue eyes scrunched shut towards his lap, Rick’s newer long hair nodding quickly over his forehead like he was found with his hand in the cookie jar. There really were seconds where Cliff could honestly call another man too fucking adorable and this was one of those times, stubbing out the cigarette on the side of the bedside table and tucking it into the mattress for a late-night snack. Rick dropped the lighter underneath just seconds after with a little tinny echo at the impact, drawing back almost gracefully into the chair with an even brighter grin in those blue eyes. 

Fucking hell, this guy. 

“And I never said anything bad about it now, Dalton, I’m just fuckin’ humbled, you get me?” Eyebrows shot taller compensating for lack of a gesturing cigarette. 

“Yeah, I get you, Cliff” drew right out in that old Jake Cahill accent. It was still pretty convincing considering how cornfed Rick Dalton really was. 

“Besides” almost shouted right out of him complete with a little shrug, lightening the conversation up after whatever just happened in Rick’s brain, “I just figure between divorce proceedings and lawyers _ and _ alimony, the last thing _ you _ need to do is spendi n‘ that money on me-er- _ my _ dog.” 

Nope. 

When Rick Dalton was sober, he was a right quick fucker. 

Cliff had no memory of his partner being this dried out, yet again restraining another shake of his head. It dropped back against the top of the pillow with a good deep sigh instead, eyes closing a little less emotional this time. 

If Cliff Booth was a prying man, he would have asked what brought this all on. But the thing about being a stuntman is to really watch the actor enough to know how they just move. Just watch, no motivation, zero lines. Just continuity. But a solid year of gofering and driving Rick Dalton’s ass around really did change things in knowing the guy even better until randomly finding himself sitting on a fancy leather couch chowing down pizza. Whatever was evolving was seriously doing funny things to Cliff’s head! 

It even became progressively easier to listen to Rick’s rants about being an actor and his career, all of his worries being mostly legitimate if they didn’t swell up to the size of King Kong in his own overly ambitious head! But Rick really did respond best to these kinds of silences in any situation from crying behind his sunglasses to the seconds before blacking out drunk muttering over and over that he was a goddamned failure. But that was Hollywood for you, always specializing in destroying decent cornfed people like Rick Dalton just because of its impossible standards of marketing to the masses. Being in stunt really was less stressful despite being told every five seconds that you’re too good-looking for this line of work. 

He couldn't even fall back onto _ that _ now thanks to Randy’s bitch of a wife! 

If anyone was the has-been. 

The heat coming off of Rick’s blue jeans was even warmer from behind closed eyes and blowing right onto him in the closer distance. It felt good. Good and familiar. 

Brandy could absolutely stay at Rick’s house and Cliff would officially be without a single Hollywood tie. He’d miss the best girl in the world, but at least he could be back on the wide-open road of possibilities just inching towards death in however long that would really take for a guy like him. That was decided on somewhere between a bloody Mary and whatever else he could get away with while in coach. After that end of an era binge, Rick Dalton really didn’t need him anymore which made everything even more perfect with Francesca. 

But there was no telling if Rick still wanted him around now that she wasn’t in the picture. Friends and/or bosses would always come and go, some being so lucky as to stay living. Cliff understood and made peace with it all. He really did eyeball that Rick and Francesca would divorce in a year or two and Cliff Booth could have done fucking anything in that time. 

There was even less telling what that wide-open road was telling him now. 

One hip shifted and then the other, but there was no willing this fucking bed to magically soften right up. A mattress spring had other plans and twanged hard right up into his left ass cheek. 

“Hmph” fell out way too easily despite it not hurting as much, the nerves running up and down his side clearly thinking differently. 

“Thought you fell asleep there, buddy” that cowboy tone was sliding right back into Rick’s voice. 

“Nah,” grumbled out as his right hand lifted to cradle the back of his head. Cliff already regretted hitting the dumbbell a little too hard just a few minutes ago. He would end up looking like an uneven Popeye if he kept this up! “Just trying to get comfortable on this God forsaken mattress, it’s like sleepin’ on that first couch of yours in your trailer back in the day.” 

That laugh sounded even better with the closer distance of Rick’s ankles. But it just pulsed right there in the back of his throat and between this and that perfectly familiar body heat, Cliff almost wanted to stay in Hollywood just for these kinds of moments. 

“Up yours, Booth.” 

“Yeah, not tonight, darlin’” and both of his eyes opened right on that old cowboy, slightly greasy hair dragging across palm lines to meet that face fully. But Rick was shaking a tiny grin down towards his knees before looking back up, Cliff’s hand moving off the back of his head and gesturing towards his own left ass cheek, “a little too sore from last time.” 

“Oh Jesus,” Rick laughed even quieter, swaying that little smile from side to side before tanking down into both of his palms. 

“Y’know” mumbled even softer from behind them as Rick sat back in that chair, fingers slowly wiping down his cheeks. Another finger gun was slowly morphing then pointing in Cliff’s direction. That tiny little smile looked like a firework was going off behind his face and brightening up those dumb movie star blue eyes. “I... I was told by the cops t-to keep some buddy of mine f-from runnin’ his mouth t-too much. Jesus, Cliff, did you se-seriously have to go and m-mention the B-Black Dahlia murder to-to the LAPD of all p-people?!” 

“Hey,” thankfully raised the right shoulder a little further up than the left, “_ they _ were the ones gettin g' a little too curious over all of that “Wicked Witch of the West” business. It _ did _ shut them up pretty quickly though, pussies. Besides,” shot up a little louder all over again, “that’s one less bridge out of the handful I should probably burn before officially kissin’ this Hollywoodland goodbye.” 

Rick’s loafers loudly clipped down on the concrete, Cliff’s moccasins and shins even colder in their absence. But he was sitting a little too tall against the white backed chair, stilling like a fucking deer smelling the air. Both of those eyebrows were practically up against the creases of his forehead, Rick’s clearly scared pupils square on his. 

Oh boy. 

This was really going to be it this time. 

“W-well, I... I suppose I cou-couldn’t blame you, partner. I’d be sor-sorry to see you g-go wh-when you le-leave,” Rick’s dark blue sleeves pooling around his elbows met with the darker wash of jeans as he leaned forward, a finger running across his chin then up onto his lips. It didn’t even look or even sound like the old bastard’s hamster wheels were spinning as crazily as usual, but Cliff really wasn’t a prying man like this! “But if you burn this bridge to me,” those same fingers pointed a finger gun his direction all over again, his eyelids completely peeled off the blue radiuses around those pupils still glued on his own, “I _will _ ha-have to use my fuckin ’ flame th-thrower in _ your _ dir-direction, Booth, I mean it.” 

“Glad to see you in a good mood today, Dalt.” 

“Yeah uh, I... I...” Rick started to wince down towards his knees, fingernails reaching up to scratch at his temple, “ha-had an audition fo-fo-for this “Mobster Ranch” movie yesterday, I-I can’t remember the na-name,” the back of his hand backhanding the air towards the door all over again before dropping fingers back on his forehead, “tri-tried for a “su-supportin’ of a sup-p-p-portin' heavy.” N-no-now I kn-kn-know it’s a step down from the sp-spa-spaghetti westerns,” that finger gun disintegrated into a flat palm right down on his thigh without much of a slap behind it, “bu-but that fucker Schwarz ha-had no-nothin' else f-f-fo-for m-me. I... I... I... ju-ju-ju-ju—” 

Both of his eyes scrunched shut as Rick took an uncharacteristically deep breath. 

What the... 

That same inhale stayed in there for quite a while for a smoker, but then Rick didn’t smoke near as much as he did. It was hard not to wince at whatever was happening right now, watching a smoother exhale sliding right out and both of those eyes opening right along with it. If it were possible, they looked even bluer than they had been. 

“B-but I also met David” and that old cowboy looked like none of that even happened, a little grin cocking up on one side of his mouth even with the light gravel in his throat, “so-some kid in his 20s who buys the Polanskis gro-groceries when they get t-too busy. I don’t have to pa-pay him too much, thank God,” both of those arching eyebrows looked even less stressed out and more amused as they pointed directly back at him and quickly coughing. “He’s a-a-actually savin’ up to open his own restaurant around here someday soon. I-I guess” and they slid even higher up towards those wrinkles in his forehead, a quick little twitch at the tops of those elbow-length sleeves, “I’m gonna have t-to put the kid on per-permanent stand-by or somethin’ n-now that you’re m-makin' your way ou-out of town.” 

But there were a few little tears slowly collecting in the corners of those even bluer eyes. 

God damn it. 

Couldn’t Rick Dalton have his grand emotional breakdown sooner rather than later? 

“That’s good, Dalton, that’s good. Didn’t think they would be good for your personal life as well, but what’s this business going on over here?” a muscle in the back of his neck cracked gesturing his chin over to the duffel bag, “What are you doing goin’ out to my trailer and better question, do I want to know _ how _ you got out there?” 

“Sharon’s ex, Jay. I... I’m sorry it took me so lo-long though, Cliff, I f-feel like shit about that.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I managed to get these,” thumbs flicked at his white t-shirt then sweatpants, “from the laundry’s lost and found.” 

“Good, good. Y-y'know, Jay said if you’d ever con-considered it, h-he knows someone who-who would pay go-good money for y-your hog.” 

“Well, I can’t very well take my own or even your Cadillac when I go now, can—” 

Rick didn’t even blink as those blue eyes just kept widening and widening like they were protesting. That fucking Jake Cahill bastard. Both arms tried crossing over Cliff’s cotton T-Shirt, a little nerve somewhere in the left side thinking about twanging but deciding against it. 

“Nice try, partner. _ I _was there when you got that Cadillac, you practically fuckin’ kissed the roof hello.” 

Cliff was about to ask after Francesca, but it was probably a smarter thing to leave that alone after practically smelling a melt-down coming off of that last rant. But then Rick did take care of it so easily, that deep breath an even weirder thing to experience than a grown man wearing matching boxers and robe with a stein in hand while floating on an inflatable chair in his own pool. There really wasn’t much else to do but watch that growing hair shake from side to side and a tiny grin slowly setting off yet another firework. Watching this fucker would always be Cliff Booth’s specialty and it always seemed to be enough. 

* 

The phone made that little clicking sound when it hits the hinges and both of Rick’s eyelids just slammed shut. Little flecks of dark blue and purple blinked like headlights right there in all of that black. A car engine going up the Polanski driveway roared even louder from behind closed eyes, a single bark following the extreme quiet. Brandy really was almost getting used to this suburban life, Rick remembering to ask David to pick up more her favorite dog food when he came around on Sunday. 

He almost forgot what it was like to have a pet around. Rick’s older brother had a dog and Duke never did like him that much. But Duke, obviously named after the original cowboy of all cowboys, died when he was five years old and Rick cried not knowing what else to do about it. Of course, he immediately got yelled at. 

“Men don’t cry, Ricky!” and a 7-year-old Bobby, of all people, pushed him hard enough to trip over himself, “Don’t you want to be a man?” 

Time really does make it _ mostly _ easier to forget emotional scars, but time also means right now. There wasn’t much else right now except for this heavy-feeling itching just over the top of his skin. 

“I’m not mad, Rick. I th-think you’re an idiot, but I am not as furious as I was.” Francesca’s voice was so smooth and barely conniving in that musical accent of hers. She really did sound so calming and almost comforting, Rick almost feeling those long and soft yet no-nonsense fingers curling around his forearm just from the sweet tone in her voice. But it was hard to believe her when she already had a lawyer days after her decision. A shaking breath went in, but he didn’t bother to count to ten and the exhale came out more like a deep grumble. Rick fell back onto his bed, ripples of cotton undulating up into his back. 

Fucking time zone differences. 

Fucking time zone differences and that kind of conversation really could _ not _ have happened at any other time of the day! This morning was the second out of the four trial-run installments and Gia really didn’t deserve how this international phone call was going to affect him for the rest of the day whether it was Friday or not! 

Friday. 

There really was a time before giving into the drink when Friday mornings almost felt like waking up on fucking Christmas Day. Nothing felt more like that explosion of almost-orgasmic recognition knowing that just one or a few trade magazines slid through the letterbox on his door. Just seeing “Variety”’s large black half-cursive font would always make him remember one of the best nights of his life. 

“Rick Dalton, if there’s any advice I’d ever have to give you” and Walter Brennan’s cigarette came pointing directly into his 30-year-old face, Walter fucking Brennan! Nadine Groot from “Red River,” Judge Bean from “The Westerner,” was actually looking at _ him_ ! “is that if I really had _ my _ hands on my _ early _ career, I would be grabbing those fucking trades and annoying the shit out of a lower studio head until risking to get fired. You just couldn’t do that shit back in the day, so you better help make it even easier for the actors that follow in _ your _shoes.” 

He unsubscribed from all of them just last year in a drunken rage giving up on the hope and to save some money. And then Schwarz found him with all of his stupid prodding praise. But after Tuesday’s half-assed meeting on his couch, he re-subscribed to “Variety” on sheer impulse. This week really was even more of an emotional rollercoaster than usual with or without the drink and it wasn’t just everything that happened last Friday night. 

Rick could only blame the cab rides. 

His nerves still felt like the consistency of raw bungee cords even after taking Brandy for her nightly walk late yesterday afternoon. 

“Holy shit, Rick Dalton” came up from behind and right there on Shadybrook Drive, he froze like a Goddamned deer while everything jumped even more violent right underneath his skin. Something about Cliff’s planning on leaving town made him not really want to interact with anyone, but then Rick couldn’t really blame him on escaping while he could. Brandy tugged forward against her collar and nearly tripping him over his own feet. “No, shit, wait, Rick, not _ that _ kind of a fan. Fucking ginger intern with his wet pants!” 

He immediately remembered. 

A “fucking ginger intern” was brought on during a later season of “Bounty Law” and conveniently showed up during one of Rick’s on-set panic attacks. The kid accidentally spilled coffee that was meant for Rick all over himself scared of a freaking out Jake Cahill. Once Rick’s heart rate came back down, he felt so bad for the kid, he actually bought _ him _ a coffee. Well, he gave Cliff a dollar asking to run to the canteen for him then Rick gave the kid his coffee. 

But even now Rick knew that the “fucking ginger intern” knew that Rick couldn’t remember his name and it was fine. The kid really wasn’t a kid anymore as he shook his hand and shot right up onto his feet after scratching Brandy’s head like a lightbulb went off in his face. “Holy shit, Rick, I know a script you would actually love! I’m currently working at United Artists and I just heard some new guys want to make a Western, but I’m sure you’re done with that shit now. I don’t even know if they’ll take a big name like yours and they _ are _ planning on shooting in Spain.” 

“Fucking ginger intern” actually sounded genuine not like most people feeling like they have to either talk down or up to an actor just to make them feel better about themselves! 

“Buddy” and Rick’s hand clapped his denim-dressed shoulder never feeling more sincere or at ease in this kind of a conversation. He remembered how much he used to appreciate the younger crew members in the early “Bounty Law” days, how a little bit of that spun into this weird friendship with Cliff. Those were the people that knew everything and were probably even more knowledgeable than the trades themselves! It all came rushing back at him and not even caring that “ginger intern” looked like a hippy. “I’m at the point where I’m glad to get anything.” 

It was a Doc Holliday film. 

It was a _ Doc Holliday _ film. 

Just from word of mouth, it was a motherfucking Doc Holliday film! 

Rick’s eyes nearly crossed _ and _ glossed over all at the same time just at that name! The enthusiasm fell right out, Rick not even caring about the procedural reserve execs usually quietly require out of any actor. But thankfully the kid but not kid had a pen on him as Rick wrote his phone number the back of some fast food chain receipt and adding in big bold letters “CALL RICK DALTON ABOUT THE DOC HOLLIDAY MOVIE, I MEAN IT!!!” 

Goosebumps prickled down into the blankets underneath him. Being respectfully identified as a fictional character is always satisfying, but the contact high exchanged between people who genuinely care about their mutual art really was something. These were the moments worth still being an actor for! It also didn’t hurt knowing that some “new guys” were still moved by the old West, Hollywood always remaking their own ideas since before movies got their sound! But God only knew how long this feeling or even the sobriety was going to last. Big toes finally fell on the shag rug underneath his bed and Rick was back in right now. 

And right now still felt weirdly murky. Tears just couldn’t come out although they really wanted to. Eyes opened and closed multiple times just get things going, but it wasn’t happening. He wanted to feel like a failure and yet stay firm in his convictions. He wanted a drink but kind of knew he was just going to throw it up anyways. Rick’s mouth was even drier after being startled right out of a deeper sleep by that phone call from Italy. Eyelids pinched together even harder hoping to drown out that beautiful accent still rattling between his ears. 

“You are really loved there in the States, Rick. Did you see how the airport staff look at you? Do you ever really notice? I know you may think I’m just a big breast actress with just enough talent, Rick, but just because you struggle with heads of studios, does not mean you are not already loved by everyone across your country. _ Capisici_ ?” 

She wasn’t wrong, but not everyone was going to go out of their way to go to some bigger chain or art-house theater in the city just to watch some Italian spaghetti western because Jake Cahill was in it. Television was a thing now and it was infinitely easier than movies. Besides, Francesca had never even been anywhere in middle America and that's who those studio heads targeted the most. The pure and super-religiously raised farm kids getting into a small-town movie theater for a dollar. But Francesca still did have that lawyer. 

Francesca still did have that lawyer and it would have been easier if she was mad at him instead of whatever this was. Sure, Rick was still waiting on a few calls back, going as far as to ask Schwarzs if he knew a good one who he thankfully hadn’t alienated already. It would have been even easier to have one at his disposal and right away, but lawyers were always going to be sleaze balls willing to slant anything good or bad to their benefit. They were almost as worse as journalists and critics. Rick just couldn’t trust her right now with those buzzards flying around her and whispering words into her ear! 

It was strategy all over again. 

Fucking strategy. Maybe it’s just as much of a component as that Midwestern work ethic. 

The 6 AM alarm shrilled louder into one ear and a more contained sigh came right out. 

A certain dog collar was clinking towards the half-opened door, the hinges softly creaking open. His palm dropped and bounced against the mattress before patting it a few times signifying it was OK for Cliff’s dog to take her morning advantage of him. It had happened every day this week anyway. But the greatest girl in the whole wide world jumped up beside him and softly nipped at his fingers before that smooth space between her stubby ears was completely underneath his hand. 

“Duke was never as spoiled as you are, girl” but the laugh out of Rick’s throat sounded hollow and a million miles away from himself. His other hand went to scratch the other side of Brandy’s neck and he was met with a big ol’ doggy kiss just off to the side of his mouth. “Nice try, Brandy, you’re not _ that _ spoiled! Get now!” 

Nothing felt more like an incentive to get into the shower, but Rick felt like he would need it more after the yoga. 

10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 

6 … 

“Why d-don’t you do a little, ah, theater, Rick?” 

And eyelashes flinched in the direction of the solid gray blanket in front of him. 

5 … 

4 … 

“It might, mm, n-not hurt badly before taking another job.” 

3 … 

“I just figure between divorce proceedings and lawyers and alimony, the last thing _ you _ need to do is spending that money on me-er—” 

2 … 

And Rick really wanted to spend_ that _ money on _ yoga_ ? 

1

“Can I ask where you went just now?” 

Gia’s usually almost dancing-like words started to melt away from that low huskiness in front of his closed eyes. 

“You don’t have to answer that if you really want to, but you can be as general or as specific as you want if it would help!” 

That damned smoker’s cough tickled the base of Rick’s throat, both of his eyes cracking open feeling as red and raw like waking up with yet another hangover. But Gia was still sitting right there like she did Wednesday with those long limber crisscrossed legs dressed in some kind of legging on top of her yellow mat, both of her feet propped up on either knee. Today she wore a yellow tank top instead of the blue, a shade paler than the bright color Sharon wore too well. The tiniest of smiles twitched the ends of her mouth as she flipped a ponytail of those dark brown-black waves behind her shoulder. 

A barking cough went straight into his fist. It couldn’t be helped, but an inhale did go in surprisingly smooth and deep. Both of his shoulders tingled and somehow, Rick was sitting even taller than usual but not like he was startled or anything. 

“Oh, hell, I... I didn’t go _ too _ f-far away, M-M... Gia.” 

He was scratching his temple for no good reason, that dumb Jake Cahill accent still somehow floating right out. It was a tough one to shake after 7 seasons no matter how many movies he made or the time spent hanging out with Cliff. 

Cliff. 

A breath shook right out, Rick looking down at one of his large hands spread out across a sweat pants-clad knee. Both of his palms really did go straight for both knee caps when they both sat down. It surprised him and Gia had to have noticed. A tiny smile not too unlike this one did end up lifting right out of the clear blue. 

“Not too much” came out this time sounding a little more like himself. “J-just, just work... m-money... p-people.” 

A little sunlight was pouring through the less boarded up glass door and directly onto the littlest of grins. Those brown eyes shifted to the head or foot of Rick’s equally yellow yoga mat and his followed in their direction. Of course, Brandy would be nowhere else as she hung out right there reclining her face between her paws. She was getting awfully cozier the longer she was staying here, but Rick knew Cliff too well. He was too in love with the mutt to just leave her with him! 

It may be even more gratuitous spending, but maybe it wasn’t too crazy to think it was time he had his own dog! There was the whole thing about leaving a pet by itself with an actor’s erratic work schedule, but getting out of bed in the mornings and weekends to fill up a dog bowl _ and _ going on walks did feel almost as regimented as when Rick _ did _ work! Maybe it wasn’t too crazy. 

Brandy’s dark brown eyes shifted up towards his completely unimpressed. 

Something rolled in Gia’s sinuses before she burst out giggling, Rick still wasn’t entirely used to that sassy old lady behavior. A chuckle even came right out dislodging the rest of that phlegm in the back of his throat looking back towards Gia and that brighter grin all over that beautiful round face of hers. She was fucking glowing between the darker brown base of his kitchen counter and that single stream of California sun pouring in from the left side of the room. 

“मैं सहमत हूँ, Brandy. I think it’s time for him to learn a pose too.” 

“What w-was that?” 

“Oh,” and that smile widened even toothier as all of it pointed right back towards him, Gia’s face looking round and almost kid-like, “just telling one of the best dogs in the world that I agree with her. I grew up speaking Hindi _ and _ English. But I have an idea,” Gia looked a little more whatever her age was and even a little cautious as she slowly nodded, “not to take you out of your head but to bring a little of yourself into your body, if that makes sense.” 

Rick wanted to roll his eyes. 

If he even considered paying the Yogini, then Brandy _ was _ right. 

Was it too weird to be excited about finally learning something other than breathing? 

Both of those long legs wrapped in black leggings tightened even firmer into a crisscross. It wasn’t too hard to notice after only one session that Gia twitched or moved a part of her body in order to move onto something else. 

“Let us go back to that last breath exercise we worked on Wednesday. Would you like me to walk you through at least the first one and work up to it or would you like to start?” 

“I... I did tell you; y-you _ are _ the boss fo-for forty m-minutes of my day” came out surprisingly genuine and sounding completely like the real Rick Dalton, if there was one. 

What was this yoga-thing doing to him? 

His chest and shoulders really did feel even lighter in the near 48-hours since the last session. Hopefully Cliff didn’t notice during that hospital visit yesterday. Sure, he _ felt _ lighter, but that weight barely evaporated as it still hovered a little overhead. It almost felt like it was mocking him during the whole run-in with “fucking ginger intern” last night. “No, no, I... I think I would like you t-to lead me th-through the f-first one.” 

And both of his eyes slid shut a little too easily. 

“Alright!” Gia sounded surprised and pleased, a little bit of her “r” flipping in that pretty accent of hers. That little approving sound in that husky voice vibrated those certain places reserved for that half-second of recognition, “b-but this time, instead of holding the exhale for 10 seconds, I would like you to hold for six.” 

Lungs were already expanding somewhere in the middle of her instructions. 

10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 

It was too weird how this was starting to feel like such a normal thing. 

He even found himself doing a little of this breathing yesterday, if Cliff noticed... 

Fuck, Cliff... 

6 … 5 … 4 … 

Cliff and that dumb smile of his. 

It somehow wasn’t too surprising he would make friends with people like physical therapists’ assistants and chatting up the nurses _ and _ then say he was planning on leaving all of this Hollywood business. 

At least Cliff could leave. 

Rick had even fewer options. 

3 … 

2 … 

1

“Great job Rick.” Gia’s voice started swaying in front of all of that dark all over again, “Now, hold onto that exhale and know that no one is here to criticize or judge or manipulate you. You are safe. If you have any thoughts, acknowledge them but take that red marker or rubber audit stamp and mark all of them with just that, safe.” 

Safe. 

1 … 2 … 

Safe. 

3 … 4 … 

Safe. 

“Rick, after your inhale, bend forward over your legs enough until you feel comfortable and wrap your hands around the outsides of your feet.” 

5 … 

6

He couldn’t wrap around the soles of his socks that way, Rick cupping the tips of his toes instead. An exhale came out hot and almost roaring between his knees. Something in his lower back even loudly cracked, a little groan helping itself. Nothing could not have felt more amazing sitting like this, Rick almost wanting to stay like this for at least a few seconds until it started to hurt like a bitch. 

“You are right here, Rick. Focus on your tail bone which must be feeling better than mine right now,” that swaying muffled voice broke off just a little from its wave as Gia giggled between her slightly muffled words. “But focus right there. Breathe into it. Where are you now?” 

“Frankly, feeling a little silly,” but everything coming out of his throat sounded far away from himself, sounding even more like “Rick Dalton” without a trace of “Jake Cahill.” Between this angle and the way Gia’s voice moved, Rick almost felt like he was in that dream-like state all over again. 

“That’s alright! Just take a breath like you usually would into your tail bone. Whatever you are really feeling right now, you will feel it right there. Picture your stabilities be they work or money or even people. They can be other things as well as long as they hold your foundation. With an inhale there, think of a single or many things however simple.” 

That gravel burned like charcoal in the base of his throat at this angle. 

It was too easy, but food and drink were pretty important, but the latter... 

An exhale moved back inward. 

The house was still in a shitty state, but Rick did have it for now. 

And then that breath went back in. 

Cliff. 

His hands were pulling right off of either sets of toes and covering his wet face. Elbows balanced mindlessly on both thighs, but then thinking Cliff was just too easy. There was no telling when the tears actually started, but they were right there and right now. It really was the operative phrase for the day. 

Fuck. 

That little “clink, clink” of Brandy’s belt collar was going in the direction of the kitchen. 

Fuck. 

Of course, fucking Cliff Booth would be the first person to pop into his head! Would Francesca be that first person if things had gone differently just under a week ago? 

There was the tiny ceremony at the courthouse in Venice, Francesca’s full-out traditional white dress. “My mother, _ Vergine Maria _ _ proteggerla _ , would roll over in her grave if I didn’t wear this.” Leave it to an actress to elope wearing a large elaborate gown from the 1940s, but Rick didn’t care. Rick couldn’t even care during the whole post-wedding sex. That really was something. He felt almost outside of his body as Francesca rolled over on top of him taking charge of her own orgasm, breasts bouncing in all directions. _ That _ was definitely _ not _ unattractive and he almost got hard just from that alone. No one would expect anything less from an Italian woman, but Rick just didn’t care. 

He still didn’t know why he didn’t care, having slept with more than enough women in his life. 

Rick blamed Cliff. 

“Bu-buddy, y’know you’re going to get married soon” fell out somewhere between their second or third glass of grappa, the waitress insisting they didn’t really need that many. Rick’s eyeballs progressively felt like they were fucking dumbbells the more he drank those tiny servings. Even his eardrums picked up on the amount of clinking glasses from behind the bar and all of the conversations behind them in the restaurant. When did any kind of alcohol have this kind of effect, he still had no idea. 

“Fuck that shit, Booth, it ain’t happening.” 

“Sure, whatever you say, Dalt. I have a prem-preminin-prem...” 

“Premonition?” 

“PREMONITION!” Cliff shouted out loud enough for both areas of the restaurant to hear him as a finger pointed directly in his direction. Rick almost cringed, Cliff always did get even louder the more he drank. “I have a natural premonition about these things” and that hand slapped down between both of Rick’s shoulder blades wrapped in his newest leather jacket. 

Maybe it was time. 

Cliff was rarely wrong about these kinds of things. 

After all, a man just couldn’t be a single Hollywood or even an international actor for too long until people start gossiping and speculating the worst. What was so wrong with being a fucking bachelor? Richard Chamberlain wasn’t married although he was still a bit-playing kid and he didn’t look like a queer! Rick knew plenty of those older cowboy extras and they weren’t married or queer either! It wasn’t like Cliff to be one of those who would actually think that Rick actually _ needed _ to _ be _ married! Rick liked his bachelor life and Cliff _ was _ better company than most women. But it did look better on paper though, the logistical part of his mind gripping onto those six words for weeks. 

When Francesca Cappucci came sauntering onto the set of "Red Blood, Red Skin" for the first time, there really wasn’t anyone better for the job. Cliff just clapped his back mumbling “that might be a _ little _ out of your league, partner. ” It felt a little like a challenge, so Rick found out her schedule just to run into her more often. He even introduced himself on the third try and the beautiful Italian actress seemed almost impressed that Rick was an American. She even caught onto the “Jake Cahill” accent pretty quick. Francesca actually admitted she liked it and in a matter of days, the buxom actress actually asked _ him _ out! Rick really didn’t hate a second of this. It had to have been a European thing and while in Europe... 

And look what God hath wrought. 

A shaky breath slid down into surprisingly smooth lungs and the backs of fingers wiped the tops of his cheeks. Even some of that burning phlegm went back down with a deep sniff, echoing in the back of his throat. Like Sharon and if this really was going to become a regular thing, Gia was going to find out he was a crier at some point. But tears are usually wasted on his career than people, but then Cliff wasn’t just people! 

Cliff. 

God-fucking-damn it. 

A breath came in and out multiple times, mildly racking the backs of his ribs. Eyes even opened right onto Gia. The sunlight pouring in from the single patio door was even brighter than before, but a chuckle was already coming right out of his throat. 

Brandy was sprawled right out on her back on the Yogini’s yoga mat and Gia was happily scratching all over her near-blinding pale white stomach right there in the sun. A weird little happy grumble came from the back of her dog-throat, Rick never having heard _ that _ before, and a little sniff almost sneezed. Gia looked like that kid all over again, dropping her head back into all of that sunlight laughing just as bright. But those eyes slowly moved back onto his. Rick could not have felt anymore awkward. 

“I, uh,” a hand went straight for that temple all over again like it was really itching, “I... I apologize for that. I’m af-afraid I’m a cr-crier.” 

“That’s alright, is it alright, Brandy?” Gia’s hand still didn’t stop alternating between scratching and rubbing that white stomach of hers as she leaned a huge grin down towards the pit bull’s face. Her tongue slid right out to barely tickle the tip of Gia’s nose. Rick couldn’t help but make a face. But she laughed bright and bubbly all over again with those blue eyes back in his direction, “I... I’m afraid yoga _ does _ make everyone’s emotions even stronger.” 

Rick was almost curious to ask about other actors, but for better or worse, there was a confidentiality agreement. 

“Would you like to do that again, Rick?” 

“Well, like I said, three _ is _ my lucky number.” 

That was still a lie. 

How did Rick manage to do so much of this PR bullshit even when he wasn’t on a movie or TV set? Eyes slid shut almost hating himself, but at least the darkness behind his eyelids did feel even more comfortable than it had been. 

10 … 9 … 

8 … 7 … 

6 … 

5 … 

4 … 

There was a little less PR in theater, but Rick Dalton was a movie and television star! Theater would be a downgrade. 

“Why d-don’t you do a little, ah, theater, Rick? It might, mm, n-not hurt badly before taking another job. It would put your shoes back on the floor, make you remember why you love acting! I always try to do a little local theater, but I’m usually regulated to costumes and makeup. It shouldn’t hurt too much!” 

There was no money in the theater no matter how big the actor. 

3 … 

“Bu-buddy, y’know you’re going to get married soon.” 

The grappa’s spice practically breathing up against his face, a very drunk Cliff Booth occasionally and accidentally spitting in the same direction. But then what can you do with loud European bars? They were almost as worse than in the States! 

2 … 

“Besides that’s one less bridge out of the handful I should probably burn before officially kissing this Hollywoodland goodbye.” 

The sound of his shoes falling off the bed practically burned an echo into both eardrums. Even Rick’s breath started to stagger a little bit, but none of it should have been so surprising! 

“W-well, I... I suppose I cou-couldn’t blame you, old buddy. I’d be sor-sorry to see you g-go wh-when you le-leave.” 

1

“And now hold right there,” that voice was back to swaying, “and know and understand no one is here to criticize or manipulate or judge or even point out what may be perceived as weakness. You are safe, Rick. If you have a moment of not trusting it or holding onto any thoughts, please acknowledge them but remember you can take a red marker or that rubber audit stamp and mark them all with simply safe.” 

Safe. 

1 ... 2 … 

3 ... 

Safe. 

“You're doing a great job, Rick. After counting to six, you will bend forward over your legs to a comfortable point and wrap your hands around your feet however the method.” 

4 ... 5 ... 

Safe. 

6

Safe. 

Knuckles wrapped over the top of his socks all over again, the exhale shaking right out a little more softly this time. The lower halves of both of his shoulder blades trembled from this weird position. A little crack from his back whispered through eardrums. But of course, that gravel wasn’t too far behind and slowly filling up the back of his throat at this angle. That dreamlike state felt even thicker this time. 

And something super faint was buzzing against his tailbone. 

“And now focus on your tail bone, Rick. Where are you now?” 

“A little more here than I was before, Miss Gia” slid out way too easily, lost in that friendlier darkness behind closed eyelids, “It does feel like there’s a chainsaw kind of vibrating on my tailbone though.” 

“That’s a _ very _ good thing, Rick!” That sway almost disappeared completely, Gia practically gasping between her words, “Breathe into it a little deeper than you did last time. You have pictured your stabilities, now really study them. Even if it’s one out of the three of those things, hold onto it but allow yourself to breathe in and out between your thoughts.” 

Cliff. 

Goddamn it, why does it always have to be fucking Cliff? 

A little cough weakly tingled in the back of Rick’s inhaling throat, but that burn on his tailbone was starting to vibrate a little harder … 

The best partner he ever had was bound to leave Hollywood at some point, Rick almost seeing him doing some kind of ranch work whether in Texas or Montana. Cliff Booth would always be that kind of a flexible kind of guy, happy to be anywhere with any type of opportunity. Rick could never be that way. He did try, but it never worked out for him. Maybe that was a secretly selfish reason in having his “stunt man” around, like a little bit of that could somehow rub off on him in some weird way. Rick was never that great at making friends despite having that PR micro-chip practically implanted in his brain by his first agent who got him the “Bounty Law” gig. 

… and the exhale finally came before it moved back in all over again … 

What was this weird vibrating at the base of his spine anyway? 

Cliff wasn’t even a close friend up until this last year. What kind of man was Rick to so easily employ but not employ someone and think it was a friendship? But didn’t adult friendships work that way? Rick couldn’t even touch the main foundation of their friendship that was fucking alcohol anymore. It had to have been over, that Raymond-guy from yesterday would probably end up becoming Cliff’s new drinking buddy and all of his time would be spent with that short little fuck. And Rick would rot away but not rot away in this house even with all of the self-improving women and his grocery guy around him. What kind of fucking man was Rick without the drink or this dumbass who seemed to be a little too fine with hauling his ass everywhere? What fucking kind of man would hear his ex-drinking buddy’s name and immediately swear to himself for no good reason? Were they ever friends or was it just some one-sided idiotic obsession? 

Rick hated himself, there was no almost about it this time. 

… and the exhale came out all over again feeling like complete defeat. 

Rick really did hate himself as he pulled himself back up, but at least he didn’t burst out in tears. 

But there were pale yellow shoulder blades rolling back up right in front of him a second later than his own stretch forward. Of course, Gia was much more flexible than Rick ever really wanted to be, her stomach lifting practically off of both of her thighs in a slow roll upwards. That dark wavy ponytail flipped over a single shoulder. Gia was smiling right at him. Rick wanted to do something like that with this next one. But her fingers were moving into strange shapes, Brandy now laying on her side still on Gia’s mat. 

“D-did you ever have a dog?” was coming out of him a little choked, longer hair tilting deeper to one side. Eyes couldn’t help but narrow around that smile before nodding down towards that pit bull who seemed to have a better gift with the ladies than he ever did, “Th-the w-way you were kind of rough h-h-housing with Brandy, i-i-it kinda looked li-like you did.” 

“Yes,” She just kept smiling like the question wasn't incredibly crazy, a little of that kid-like fullness returning to her face. “Ladki was my family’s dog. I don’t think she was an exact breed, my father found her on the streets. The veterinarian,” her fingers curled as they lifted in the air, bobbing and twirling like she was searching for a word, “called her a word like she was of many breeds or something like that!” 

“Mutt.” 

“Yes! Mutt.” 

“Th-that’s funny, C-Cl... Br-Brandy was found on the streets, bu-but I suppose sh-she’s some kind of a p-pampered princess now.” 

Rick could have sworn that his cheeks were burning. 

“I suppose that’s why we get along so well” Gia practically chirped and smiling down towards that snoozing pit bull laying directly in the sun. A few fingers brushed the space between Brandy’s ears and that grin all over that rounded childlike face looked a little more somber. But one of Brandy’s back legs kicked back at the impact, a loud sniff almost sneezing right out. “But Brandy deserves to be pampered after the weekend she’s had. Ladki always loved having her hair brushed like this as she fell asleep.” 

“And what does that name mean?” 

“Girl. It was a hard vote between Lucille or Ladki, we all watched “I Love Lucy” together as a family.” Gia had to have been much younger than he was just from that single clue and Rick almost envied the way she made that sound so matter-of-fact. The Daltons weren’t exactly the warm and cozy Midwestern-types and especially during The Depression. “D-do you need a few minutes before you do this last one by yourself?” 

That longer hair shook from side to side, hands lifting to rub down his face. A sharp inhale fell right out. 

Maybe he would take up Jay’s offer to do his hair. 

Palms instinctively dropped against sweat pant-clad knees. 

10 … 9 … 

8 … 

7 … 

“To be honest, Rick, I think I had all of this coming for me,” Francesca sighed right through the receiver, “I didn’t know you weren’t a big star; I had never heard of “Bounty Law” before I met you!” 

“I was your meal ticket.” 

“No, _ buon _ _ Dio _, Rick, no...” 

6 … 

5 … 

Cliff had the biggest dumbest smile on his face. 

Rick really was terrified of that cocky grin for a few years too long back in the day. Now he knew it way too well and even learned to laugh at it. 

“PREMONITION!” his pointing index finger was sliding backwards still in Rick’s direction from sheer drunken gravity, that dumb grin not giving up any time soon. 

That fucker. 

Rick couldn’t help but shake his new hairstyle and hiding an even wider grin behind the last sip of his grappa. 

4 … 

“Why are you being so nice to me, Francie? I don’t deserve it.” 

It all sounded like it was coming out of his mouth but not at the same time. 

Did the lawyers tell her to get him in the mornings while Rick was probably sleepy and even easier manipulated? 

“_ Sei un idiota _, Rick.” 

“Well, I think I got the translation of _ that _ loud and clear.” 

“I am saying you’re _ not _ an idiot. I am saying is that you take so much of what you can get; you think so little of the execs above you but give them so much power over you! I’ve overheard your phone calls! But you have been loved because of your show, you deserve to find people who _ do _ care. And people _ do _ care, they have to after however many seasons it was! Why d-don’t you do a little, ah, theater, Rick? It might, mm, n-not hurt badly before taking another job.” 

3 … 

2 … 

“I wished I love you the way Cliff does.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Oh, come on, Rick, I have the eyes! It’s OK what you have with him whether it’s sexual or not and I may be a practicing Catholic, but when two men look as close as you two do...” 

1

An exhale wanted to shiver right out and Rick tried like hell to fight it. 

Maybe holding this one would make all of Francesca’s dumb ideas disappear. 

All of that really did pour right out of the receiver, the little echo of a transatlantic call against her beautiful accent. But the phone call _ did _ end just two hours ago and right here and now, “Rick Dalton” knew he was safe. 

1 … 

2 … 

As close to safe as he could be considering. 

“I wished I love you the way Cliff does.” 

And Rick felt like he was stabbed with a million and one hot-tipped arrows all over his body. 

3 … 

No. 

That charcoal started to bubble up the back of his throat even hotter than before, but Rick was going to keep holding this breath. 

After all, he knew he was safe! 

Safe. 

4 … 

5 … 

But his back and shoulder blades felt like they were shaking underneath his white T-shirt, the texture of his sweatpants under his palms even softer than it had been. 

Of course, he loved Cliff! 

Safe. 

6

Safe. 

He loved him like the brothers they were! 

Or what was that dumb idiom that Cliff came up with a few nights before they left for Italy? More than brothers and less than an old married couple or some shit like that. Booth always did end up talking more when he was drinking and even waxed even more philosophical than usual. Sometimes that old fuck really couldn’t have come across anymore adorable and that was really something to fly through Rick’s mind! 

The exhale roared out before his hands even folded over the top of his toes. Rick even remembered the roll forward, but his spine could never be as limber as Gia’s. A few other places around his back cracked right out and this really could not have felt any more amazing! He wanted to cough but his throat felt exhausted of coughing all at the same time. Blistering hot gravel practically burned its way up into his nose and yet he _ still _ didn’t feel like coughing, that weirdness at his tailbone buzzing even harder. 

And Rick was supposed to breathe into this thing. 

“It’s OK what you have with him whether it’s sexual or not and I may be a practicing Catholic, but when two men look as close as you two do...I mean, it’s the 20th century, Rick! Anything could happen! Love can mean anything you want it to be!” 

How did he manage to find a wife who wasn’t necessarily a hippy but bought into their dumb ideas?! 

The burning in his nose almost made him want to throw up almost as much as after having heard those words through his bedroom telephone! 

At least Francesca didn’t actually suggest anything more explicit, not that Rick ever wanted to. It was bad enough that a 16-year-old Richard Dalton was goaded yet again from his now college-age brother to never have extremely close friendships with really anyone. He never could understand why Robert came after him the way he did. 

Breathe. 

But friends just don’t have sex with what few friends they have! That wasn’t how it was supposed to work! The movies always did tell a young Ricky Dalton that life was a fucking Andy Hardy movie. You date, get the girl who was always right there beside you, you date this girl then marry her, and make sure the cycle of marriage and babies keeps going and going. 

And just because he _ did _ love Cliff like a brother, that didn’t mean fucking was an option! The thought of having sex with any man just didn’t appeal to him and even thinking it made him even more nauseous, but Cliff also wasn't just any other random guy! What _ was _ so wrong with being an unmarried actor simply married to the scraps of work he could get?! 

No. 

Breathe. 

A shallower breath breathed inwards, the burn on his tailbone feeling like it was almost spiraling. 

“Rick.” 

Gia still smelled like that lavender and lemon, his name sounding even closer than usual in front of his still closed eyelids. 

And she really just watched all of this happen right in front of her! 

If Rick’s eyes weren’t already closed, they would have tightly pinched together right now. Even his cheeks felt pink all over again. 

“Rick, I want to try something” and a little sway was still in that lower soft voice in front of closed and downturned eyes although a little less dancing than usual. 

The air moved and lemon and lavender breathed until settling right behind him where the low coffee table was supposed to be. Thankfully there was a replacement coming tomorrow afternoon. 

“Rick, I want to try something” repeated all over again, a few little goosebumps rising on the back of his neck. “If you want, you could breathe into my hands. I think it would be better _ and _ easier to ground into my palms than inside of your ch-b-body right now.” 

Things _ did _ feel better in threes anyway. 

He only hoped that Gia perceived the nod from where she sat behind him. 

“OK” and her warm palms softly laid over the top of his back ribs, a loud exhale effortlessly sliding right out from this almost caring-feeling touch. 

“Would you like to go back to your forward bend, Rick? We can go from there” came out so gently like Gia could care for the pathetic fucker right in front of her. 

But Rick nodded anyway not even knowing if she could see it, rolling his spine back up. 

A weird little spark electrocuted the top of his left rib cage. 

An inhale went in deeply but without too long of a pause afterwards. 

Rick rolled back down, an exhale softly hollowing through the back of his throat and flexing the area of his pant legs just below the knees. He wasn’t even trying to go this far down or attempting to impress her! But his nasal passages downright burned as they attempted to breathe in all over again... 

It probably would be better if Cliff left. Sure, it would hurt like a bitch, but heroes and especially heroes who actually and justifiably kill bad guys deserve to walk into the sunset with the pit bull he loves. 

Everything was softening back into that dream-like state. 

Even that weird spiraling in his tailbone felt lighter, temples practically rotating in his skull. 

… an exhale was easier with warm hands on either rib cages before moving back in … 

Moments like this make him want to have sex. 

Rick honestly couldn’t remember the last time a woman touched him! 

Any woman showing an iota of caring like this usually did it for Rick, like it was a step away from sexual desire. Women just don’t offer up tinier displays of affection if they don’t mean it to some larger degree! The tiniest signs of caring usually show some hope in getting outside of his head and people liked him even more when he was outside of his own stupid fucking head! Maybe there are some parts of “Richard Dalton” Hollywood didn’t ruin from inside their demented blender. 

He could always make an advance on Gia, but she was too skinny for his taste. 

And Francesca honestly thought there was something between Rick and Cliff. 

But Cliff always had little moments like that just with the affectionate finger guns and the occasional pat on his shoulder or face! That couldn’t have been any different! Hell, the man was cool with Rick sometimes burying himself into his neck at least in private! 

… and that final exhale had a little grumble inside of it … 

Gia’s hands dropped from his back with a sigh hissing up and around to eardrums. 

An elbow went straight for his thigh, burying his face into a palm. But on impact, Rick started to really shake not knowing why he was shaking. 

“I-I’m s-s-sorry a-ab-about that, M-Mi-Miss Gia...” 

“Please, don’t be!” and the scent surrounding the Yogini moved around him all over again. Gia sat back down on her brighter yellow mat in front of the dark glossy brown kitchen, Rick blinking a million miles a minute just from that sunlight through the single patio door landing on that warmer tint of her skin color. That tiny supportive grin was spreading across her fuller lips all over again. “It’s natural for the human body to resist at first, besides, one person’s inner overthinking might be another’s inner contextual pep talk! I _ do not _ judge.” 

A little huff scoffed right out, fingers lifting to scratch at a temple that _ still _ barely itched. 

Whatever this was, it wasn’t resistance. 

Rick was still shaking. 

Something felt like something from somewhere back there, like he was missing something massive. It still felt no different than the few times he woke up after being near blacked out drunk. But everything still felt soft under the car hood, that weird spiral in his tailbone barely even there now. Rick’s hand dropped to the inner part of his knee. An inhale did feel like it was shaking although much softer after whatever it was that just happened. And what exactly just happened? 

There was no telling _ what _ just happened. 

“How about we do a few more active poses for the rest of our time, Rick?” Gia’s dark arched eyebrows lifted towards her shorter forehead, “Just to get further outside of your body?” 

“I keep telling you, Miss Gia, you _ are _ the boss.” 

Rick officially gave up on _ not _ using an honorific on her. 

“And I just want to make sure you have a say on your program. So,” and her hips started shifting in that nesting and moving on kind of way, Gia’s palms meeting one another just in front of her pale-yellow stomach without much of a clap. “with poses, I’d like to start with the very basics before doing the full movement...” 

Rick started shaking the second knee caps hit the weird squishy material underneath him. 

He knew. 

Rick knew what he had missed. 

Fuck. 

* 

** _ Sunday, August 17 _ ** ** _ th _ ** ** _ , _ ** ** _ 8 _ ** ** _ :35 AM. Rosa Parks Fwy and Vermont Ave. _ **

It wasn’t anything like sitting behind the wheel of that ‘66 Cadillac Coupe de Ville, but Cliff was finally out. At least he was able to roll down the backseat window, that dusty lethargic L.A. air whipping across the left side of his face and fingering through longer sideburns. But now being back in California, he did feel a little stupid with this longer haircut. 

“Hey everyone, Humble Harve here introducing the latest number one on the charts and let’s hope it stays that way! Here is The Rolling Stones with “Honky Tonk Women.”” 

A cowbell blared right out of the cab driver’s radio. 

“Very nice.” 

The air blew even harder against his elbow as it hinged just outside of the open cab window, fingers tapping out the rhythm at the top of it. God, Cliff missed this too much although it only having been a week! 

“You can turn that shit up now, brother.” 

“You sound like a man who just got out of prison” the Spanish hippy laughed up into the rear-view mirror, the country-rock slowly getting even louder. 

“Or something like it,” a laugh barked right out between his words, “I was held up in the hospital back there for a week _ and _ longer than necessary, I’d say! God only fucking knows how much _ that’s _ gonna cost me.” 

“If I was born in this country, I only wish I knew.” 

“Well, uh,” Cliff quickly eyeballed the cab driver’s identification on the sun visor overhead, “Miguel, I can tell you that it’s going to be a _ real _bitch. You can take that one to the bank” and a hand came down on the cab driver’s shoulder right in front of him. The Spanish driver grinned up into the rearview mirror with a little nod. 

He fell back into the backseat, his left side only echoing the idea of pain. It barely hurt when he walked, but it was in the sitting down and getting back up again. It was bound to happen anyway; Cliff fucking Booth really wasn’t getting any younger. The second the “Ma Kettle” nurse, Betty, rolled him out those front doors, there was something in that shitty Los Angeles air that shouted one loud welcome back. 

“Are you sure you’ll be fine with just a cab?” 

“Don’t really know anyone who could get me around otherwise, Betty,” he groaned as he got out of the wheelchair. A huge and genuine shit-eating grin turned to the older and larger woman on the opposite side of the wheelchair Cliff tried _ so _ hard to fight against. “Hey, now, gorgeous, don’t you go forgettin’ about me.” 

“Don’t worry, gorgeous, in another half hour, I would have forgotten about you already.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

Cliff really did like her. Betty Hungerford was like a mix of a no-nonsense Ma Kettle and his great-aunt Dorothy Mae on his mother’s side. 

But once he slid into Miguel’s cab _ and _ on the left side of the car just to feel something close to actually driving, there really was nowhere else to go. His clunker of a Karmann Ghia was still in Rick’s driveway and knowing the poor bastard, he probably totaled it somewhere out of complete embarrassment. 

Rick’s phone calls had come to a complete standstill since Thursday though. He wasn’t too surprised. If Cliff didn’t drive his sad drunk ass everywhere, it was a guarantee that he would never hear from Rick period. The times they got together to drink before Rick lost his license was far and between, but they were a little more memorable than more recent excursions. Now they almost bled altogether, for lack of a less ironic word. But that partner of his really was like a cat like that, knowing when he needed to avoid people and when it was time to really pump out the ol’ P.R even if against his will. It would never really be easy for him; Cliff always feeling the discomfort radiating whenever Rick asked him to stay on the sets of interviews. 

Those good and trusty aviators were sliding onto his face, the metal frames feeling even more like something like home. A little scoff went out the cab window into all of that hot L.A. air as Miguel passed the West Ave intersection. 

“Hey, _ amigo _, you want me to take the turn on La Clenaga? It’s shorter.” 

“And don’t I know it! Go for it, man.” 

Habit almost wanted Cliff to drop in at a gas station on the way to grab a pack of beer. Rick and he really didn’t get the official capping off of that “end of an era” binge. 

“Did you get any good drugs back there at Dignity Health?” Miguel’s eyes quickly darted up into the rearview mirror all over again. There was no restraining laughing at the clearly obvious implication. 

“Why, you want some, boy?” 

“J-just wondering” and Miguel shaking his head back to looking at the road. This son of a bitch! Cliff still couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Fucking L.A. 

“Well, I don’t think,” Cliff grabbed at the capsule container in the front pocket of his duffel, “Clon-ah-zee-pam would do much except for maybe freezing your insides up like a popsicle,” his eyebrows quirked and both lips pursed together a little interested at the idea, the pills rattling in their bottle as it went back into his bag, “I might have to take one of these once I’m fully out of the woods.” 

“What did it to ya?” 

At least he wasn’t explaining it to the cops or reporters anymore, thank God! 

“You remember the hippy attack on Cielo Drive last weekend? I was the sad fuck who got it in the ass and not in the fun way either,” Cliff’s fingers went straight for the solid blue breast pocket of his button-down and the pack of cigarettes Raymond so graciously gifted him on the way out. “I’m kidding, Miguel,” bobbed the cigarette between his lips, lighting it with Rick’s lighter before blowing it all out the open cab window, “no man with pure red blood would _ ever _ like that shit.” 

“I dunno, man, my girl says she slips one in there sometimes but I never know when it happens!” 

“That is one brave _novia _you got there, Miguel!” 

At least Cliff was let out earlier in the day and beating the rush on Santa Monica. 

His head dropped back on the hard-plastic neck rest, deeply inhaling that awful L.A. air mixed with a little of his cigarette before exhaling it all right out. Would it be crazy to think that he would almost miss that taste if he was to leave all of this? “that’s one less bridge I should probably burn before officially kissing this Hollywoodland goodbye” came out way too easily and to Rick of all people who must’ve felt abandoned by that point! But then Cliff kind of made up his mind and yet not all at the same time. 

Rick did need someone! 

But Cliff had enough of the Hollywood game. 

His mind was supposed to be made up! 

But what use would he be in hanging around like he had been? Rick would eventually insist he be his stuntman and Cliff really would outlive his usefulness completely if this pain but not pain didn’t let up soon. And as far as he knew, Rick couldn’t go back to paying him to do things around the house anymore. He didn’t need to. There was a grocery kid now and Sharon Tate would always be a door away from being of any help to the poor fucker. 

Rick didn’t need his sad excuse of a drunk chain-smoking ass around! 

But Rick still needed someone. 

There really was no getting around any of this. 

If Brandy and his car wasn’t at the house, Cliff wouldn’t even want to go straight there! But Brandy did deserve to at least hear a goodbye and that he loved her more than anything before zooming off to Van Nuys for a few more of his things. Then it would be off to... Texas or New Mexico or Arizona or wherever. Who knows? But it would definitely have to be somewhere with the same climate as L.A. Cliff may have gone a little soft when it came to any harsher weather. 

It was a pretty thin sleep once he finished his cigarette, but at least the faint hot whiz of air zooming across his left eardrum still felt like it was welcoming him back to at least the idea of the open road. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, but Rick _ did _ need someone. “Humble Harve” Miller just kept doing his thing through the radio introducing Tommy James and the Shondells, Stevie Wonder, Johnny Cash. 

Cliff really did miss having a good long 6 hours' worth of sleep! 

Rick better have coffee on when he got to the house. 

“Hey, uh, _ amigo _, you still with me?” 

“Yep, still with ya, _ amigo _” groaned and cracked right from behind his aviators and adjusting his neck over the stiff backseat, “Just trying to get something close to some beauty sleep. Hospital beds are a real bitch.” 

“I’ll take your word for it. These neighborhoods look like they would have some comfortable beds though!” 

He didn’t open his eyes, but shoulders twitched something between recognition and something else. There was always that little “something else” when it came to ol’ Bounty Law. It didn’t even need a word tacked onto it; it just was. Sprawled out on that nice and soft leather couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table where Rick’s balanced just a few inches from his, that was what it was. It was the heat of shins resting on the top of that awful hospital mattress. Maybe it was a little selfish to stick around just for a dumb feeling that Cliff didn’t even have words for. But did things like these need words? 

All of this in a single year. 

As far as Cliff knew now, Rick still hadn’t had a drink since after the Spahn Ranch hippies last Friday. And a sober Rick usually means a better adjusted one until something catastrophic happens _ because _ of that stupid yet necessary Hollywood gossip that sometimes helps in overhearing perspective job offers. Rick definitely needs someone. He had to be freaking out right now barely drinking or smoking and just sitting around like this for the past week! It was just too fucking ironic. The star of the silver and golden screen who could get any woman and all the money he ever wanted always did have some ridiculous weight on his shoulders whether it was self-induced or not. Cliff really did envy the guy for all the have’s but wouldn’t wish the have not’s on his worst enemy. 

Sometimes Cliff really wondered if they were ever friends. For all he knew, it was a convenience at first being once upon a time-coworkers with a mutual love for the drink occasionally getting together! He always was a sucker for opportunistic friendships like these, but after the past year, things were starting to feel different. Cliff was actually getting to know the real Rick Dalton and not just the guy he did stunts for in those 5 years. It also didn’t hurt that he was getting paid for house chores during the process. But it _ did _ start feeling like something else, a something else without an exact word to it and maybe that was an OK thing! People over-define things too much in this day and age. 

That hot air was starting to sound a little more uneven. Just from the wind alone, Miguel was definitely starting through The Flats, that hissing something straight from the beginnings of the hills. Depending on traffic, Cliff was going to be almost smack dab in front of that ridiculous Jake Cahill mural in Rick’s driveway in a matter of minutes. He still had absolutely no idea what to even say to this guy besides a hello and goodbye and to take good care of the best girl. His neck finally peeled off the sweaty neck rest and sore as fuck. But then Cliff was pretty good at bullshitting in the spur of the moment. Maybe a little _ too _ good. 

Miguel was taking the turn off Benedict Canyon onto Cielo, Rick’s driveway slowly taking shape in front of Cliff’s dark aviators. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt to have just a little to go on... 

Cliff still had absolutely nothing, looking straight ahead through the shaded windshield to Rick’s ranch home as Miguel did the math. Yep, there was the mural just behind that creamy yellow Cadillac, his Karmann Ghia next to it like always. But there was a black 1966 Chevelle Convertible next to the house. Now this was an interesting and thankfully less dangerous turn of events! 

Miguel was immediately paid and graciously. 

“Well, maybe my next ride will have something good on them.” 

“Keep fighting the good fight, hermano!” a laugh chuckled right out, tossing his duffel up onto his right shoulder. 

Cliff shook his tingling sleepy foot a few times before walking up towards his own car. Sure, it would never be as fancy as Rick’s Cadillac, but it was his. In fact, he paid for it with his first “Bounty Law” paycheck. He shook his foot one more time as the sandbag sensation started going up towards his knee. And steps away from the passenger side, Cliff dropped his chest and arms down on the top of it with a deep sigh. 

“Darlin’, I ain’t leaving you like that ever again” mumbled straight into the softer morning heat simmering against the car roof. 

A woman’s laugh peeled right out from the backyard and it didn’t sound like it was in the direction of the Polanski house either. 

“Oh, boy” grumbled even deeper against the Volkswagen. 

But at the same time, Rick-fucking-Dalton! 

How was he able to be so self-destructive but draw the ladies in like he did?! 

Cliff tossed his bag through the open car window and this was really it. One step closer to leaving. The next step would be to put the coffee on if it wasn’t already then promptly being covered with Brandy kisses. Then that space between her ears would be stroked while having that serious talk … with her. Rick _ did _ deserve to have a dog. Cliff could have sworn he was around dogs as a kid, but either way, having Brandy around would get him out of himself more often! The best girl in the whole world really did have her work cut out for her! 

A scoff conjured a little taste of that cigarette in his throat, fumbling for the Dalton house keys in his jeans pocket while going up the steps. That sandbag sensation was trailing in towards his thigh and it was damn near aggravating as he shook his foot right there on the stoop. But Brandy was already barking the alarm as he finally went through the door. 

Christ. 

The even cleaner living room now only faintly looked like it had been through a twister, but knowing Rick, there were probably still a few little blood stains here and there. There even was an even glossier version of Rick’s old coffee table sitting right there in front of his chair and the couch. Cliff did remember the old one breaking somewhere in that sequence of events, little bits and pieces of the night slowly coming back even sharper after having lived it exactly a week ago. All of that seriously was _ just _ a week ago! The room did look a little darker considering the one boarded up patio door, the other panel looking like it was in a little better shape as it brought in some of that California morning sun. A couple of shadows moved against the pool side concrete just beyond the sliding door. 

“Fantastic job, Rick. When you release backwards from that kind-of push up position, you will inhale for 6 counts as deep or as naturally as you want.” 

What the... 

And Brandy was whining right there at his feet, a palm stretching out to quiet her down. 

She was downright vibrating as she sat down right there, a smile stretching right across that adorable face of hers. If ever the dictionary needed a definition for the phrase “happiest dog in the world,” this was really it as Brandy just kept shaking practically right out of her skin. 

But Cliff pointed a single index finger directly at her then tapping out a few beats before walking towards the lesser damaged window. There were a few cracks in it from up close and probably just as sanitized as Brandy’s mouth! 

That bastard weirdo. 

And that bastard weirdo was drenched in all of that sun and folded right over the top of a yellow mat stretching his stomach back towards his sweat pants. 

Cliff blinked once then twice. 

What was he looking at exactly? Rick’s hands started to walk back towards his feet and slowly rolling the top half of his body right up. 

Cliff had to blink one more time just to make sure. 

Nope. 

The old cowboy’s face was pink and vibrating and there was more of it than usual. 

Right there in his socks and the laziest clothes Cliff had ever seen on him, Rick’s hair was shorter all around save for the top and those halved mop top bangs. They fell back across his forehead as he let out a huge loud breath through the “o” of his mouth. 

“That was very well done, Rick.” 

Cliff rolled his eyes at the obvious praise. 

Like Rick needed any more of _ that _. 

“Th-thank you M-Miss Gia,” a hand lifted to push back the loose hair on his forehead. Rick looked even more like Bounty Law whether it was getting his hair colored or just the brighter sun, a little sheepish grin inching genuinely humbled, “I d-did it a few times yesterday and I... I th-think it k-keeps getting easier. It d-definitely makes my back crack wh-which is always a g-good thing!” 

Son of a bitch. 

Cliff had never seen the guy look so relaxed around a woman before! He usually stuttered even more and like a goddamn typewriter around anyone in a skirt! Rick didn’t even come across 100% relaxed around Francesca when Cliff was around and that was saying something about _ that _ impending disaster. 

“Perfect!” the pretty little girl sitting on another mat right in front of him lit up like July 4th fireworks. Both arms were already crossing over his chest way too amused at whatever was going on. She was definitely too young for this old bastard as she just kept grinning directly over to him. A little of that ghostly pain shot down his more awake leg. 

“I like hearing you trying between our sessions. Now I would like you t—” and the little girl twitched then turned looking straight at Cliff in the doorway. Both smiling sides of her mouth looked nice and full enough for the job, but this wasn’t that Pussycat situation all over again. Cliff was officially swearing off all advances to and from anyone under the age of 35. But her smile looked way different than the barefooted hippy’s. It looked something close to pure as whatever it was shined off every inch of that pretty color on her face. 

“Hey, man!” Rick walked straight for him with a huge grin all over that pink face of his. 

Cliff slid back the rest of that half-opened patio door, hearing a few creaks and cracks from inside of the hinges. 

“You know I can fix this for you sometime!” he pointed towards the disaster while walking right through. 

“Fuck that shit, you’re recuperatin’, you old bastard!” and Rick’s hand was sweating as it gripped his, the other dropping between Cliff’s shoulder blades. A half hug only meant one thing and his partner, ex-partner, was a little performance shy in front of this girl as it ended as quickly as it began. That was _ definitely _ new. If it were possible, Rick looked and felt even lighter than he did Thursday as he stepped back from that half hug with both hands on his hips. That little skinny thing on the yellow mat was biting her full mouth together as both of her eyes were pointing towards her lap. Seriously! Rick-fucking-Dalton! “They let finally let you out!” 

“And none too soon! Thought I’d come by to grab my car, so I’ll let you—” 

“N-n-no shit, man, you don’t c-come out here a half hou-our to stay for a goddamn m-minute. C-coffee’s on if you w-want it.” 

A sigh came out way, way too appreciative. 

“Those are some beautiful words, Dalt, I _ will _ take you up on that,” and a foot started to turn towards those tornado remains of patio doors, “and say hello to my girl!” 

“You’re Brandy’s owner!” and that tiny and very beautiful little girl shot right off her long rectangular mat. She was definitely not as tiny as Cliff thought, the taller and thinner woman walking up towards them adjusting her ponytail of long black wavy hair and pushing her pale blue tank top down around that less curvy waist. Cliff really couldn’t place that accent and he had been nearly everywhere at this point. A no-nonsense light-brown hand stretched right out for his and he had no choice as it gave off a good firm shake. It was warm and completely undaunted by the usual first impression that was apparently “Cliff Booth: wife murderer.” “I’m Gia and I just _ love _ your dog.” 

“Well, Miss Gia,” Cliff caught Rick out of the corner of his eye biting inside of his mouth and looking down towards his toes, “I have to believe that Brandy owns _ me _ most days. And what’s been happenin’ here then?” 

“Bl-blame Sharon” Rick kept mumbling towards his feet. 

Cliff tried so hard to not burst out laughing at the level of Rick’s embarrassment. Even the mystery girl was fighting off a huge grin. It was just too fucking cute, like a five-year-old knowing he was caught doing something what he thought was bad. And this definitely wasn’t bad, just way too different for ol’ Bounty Law. 

“Y-you know,” and those pretty round brown eyes shifted back towards who seemed to be Gia’s client, “Rick, we can end where we are today and I’ll see you Tuesday at the earlier time.” 

“Are y-you sure?” 

“I think a half hour is just as good as a full hour, besides, I _ never _ infringe on company.” A little smile was spreading across her whole face and suddenly, this tall and skinny little lady looked even younger than... however old she was. Cliff honestly couldn’t tell and he was good at guessing these things. 

“Aw shit, p-p-pardon my language, Miss Gia, b-but Cliff isn’t really c-company. H-he’s practically a ro-roommate!” 

The yoga instructor’s smile was beaming even brighter as she went back to the mat she was sitting on and rolling it up. This Gia-girl's tall leggy body from the back really didn’t look like much as those tight black encased legs and a skinny flat ass bent down all over again to roll up the one Rick was on. 

And like Pussycat from earlier in the year, just because Cliff didn’t want to bury his dick inside of it didn’t mean he couldn’t at least enjoy the view! It was kind of like going to those museums in Venice when Rick begged him to go, looking at naked women without doing anything about it. But something was kind of hitting his arm and Rick was narrowing his eyes right back at him. Those longer loose bangs disapprovingly shook to one side on his forehead. 

“Well, Rick,” softly groaned out of Gia’s lower voice as she stood up with both mats underneath one arm. Goddamn, the girl had good long arm muscles for being so skinny as she walked towards her client’s side, “if you would like to extend your practice sometime today, do the more introspective breathing and alternate it with that flowing routine. You are doing fantastic and I really do hope to keep working with you after Tuesday!” 

“I’ll bring my best A-game, Miss Gia.” 

That smile just kept grinning. Gia pulled out her ponytail and all of those long black curls fell down past her half naked tanned shoulders. Seriously! Rick-fucking-Dalton! How _ d__o _ the pretty ones with no clear interest in having sex with him just flock straight for him anyway? How _ does _ this happen?! 

“It was nice to meet you, Cliff,” and now that smile started nodding in his direction, “I hope to see Brandy _ and _ you again.” 

“Well, that’s right sweet of you, Miss Gia.” 

She escaped through the house. Cliff blinked once then two more times. Even in the shadow of the living room, she was still just as tiny and not much to look at from the back. But everything on the front sure was something, watching Gia’s silhouette bend over close to the door where Brandy still sat and probably still vibrating like a damn engine. Cliff clicked his teeth a few times and the shadow of his pit bull eased up, immediately trying to lick the yoga instructor. 

The... yoga... instructor. 

How the fuck did _ this _ happen?! 

The skinny little, _ tall_, girl chuckled brightly to the back of her throat as both hands just kept going at and between Brandy’s ears. Cliff couldn’t help but turn a little towards Rick a little too curiously. The old cowboy just kept standing right there beside him with both arms crossed over his chest and breathing a little more steadily. His cheeks were still a little pink. 

“Aw, Brandy! I hope I’ll see you Tuesday, little one” and a few words of a different language could not have sounded any sweeter towards Cliff’s dog. When _ did _ Brandy get so sweet on women like this? Understandably, there wasn’t much affectionate advances towards Natalie who was essentially deadened to all ways of caring unless it came from herself. “Be good for me, alright?” 

Gia finally stood up and lifting her hand in something like a wave out through the remains of the glass doors. Even her lips fell open and teeth curiously gritted towards Rick before disappearing behind the front exit. 

A few seconds or even minutes stayed just like this, looking into the house. 

“Git th-that look off y-your face.” 

Cliff didn’t even know what he was looking like, his whole right leg now completely awake and turning towards Rick. A grin practically shot Star Trek-like laser beams over towards the old bastard. Rick burnt an even brighter pink and looking back down towards the concrete. 

“Is Rick Dalton doin’ yoga now?” 

“Shut up, Cliff,” Rick sheepishly grinned back at him, those blue eyes even brighter in all of this sunlight. “I kn-knew you were g-gonna laugh” and those almost golden long bangs shook back towards the ground. 

“Who says I’m laughing? I’m just a little amazed right now,” Rick started to lift his face back up, a few of Cliff’s knuckles immediately batting at the hair hanging over his forehead, “What’s with the hair, James Dean?” 

“Huh, o-oh, J-Jay came ov-over last night. We or-ordered a pizza an-and hung out for a while, I... I let him dr-drink from the b-bar and he su-surprisingly co-colored my hair a little li-lighter,” a little huff breathed right out of him, those stupid movie star blue eyes grinning right back at Cliff now without a single embarrassment in them, “J-Jay promised h-he could do the pr-process blindf-f-folded so wh-why not a little b-buzzed?” 

Maybe Rick already had that someone. 

“C-c’mon man,” a hand dropped on Cliff’s shoulder, that dumb heat radiating from his palm clicking in the places of that certain feeling all over again, “David dropped off a few ap-apple cider do-donuts yesterday f-from a new p-place on Sunset an-and goddamn, they’re magnificent! You lo-look like y-you need some c-coffee though,” and Rick started guiding him through the single patio door like the invalid Cliff wasn’t anymore, “I h-hope you d-d-don't mind if I don’t join you, I just like d-doing all of this yo-yoga at the same t-time be-before I f-f-forget.” That hand finally left his back and gestured in towards the kitchen before heading towards the bedroom. “I-I’ll leave you w-with your g-girl. Fuckin’ t-teach her to sto-stop k-kissing me, Booth!” 

“I ain’t promising shit, buddy!” 

The door on the other side of the room didn’t really slam a response. 

Cliff finally settled in with two of these apple cider donuts and coffee on _ that _ couch. His whole left side felt far more confused than in pain. But once ass hit leather, it was hard not to burst out in tears. But he wasn’t a crying man like Rick and he wasn’t going to start now. It really was only a week since the last time he sat in his usual spot on the end right here closest to Rick’s chair! A foot slid off the carpet onto the new end table. How could a single week make Cliff miss this shit so much? He had been on missions in the army for months that felt even shorter than this! One of these newer fangled donuts was finally starting to gain entry and a little whine squeaked from Rick’s spot. 

A lesser populated hand dropped down on the cushion beside him, Cliff quickly clicking his tongue. Brandy jumped right onto his lap from Rick’s chair and, man, was he going to be pissed to find traces of dog all over it! But his old partner would have to get used to it as Cliff broke off a good chunk of donut. It went straight into that mouth Rick was so concerned about at the beginning of the week. 

“Girl, I’ve missed you too much,” breathed right out him as he placed the rest of the donut down on the plate in front of him, Cliff’s hands immediately scratching at that space between her ears that had to have been exhausted by the yoga instructor. 

The... yoga... instructor. 

His head shook all over again, bangs moving back and forth like a damned broom after supper. 

This just made absolutely no and yet a little sense. Brandy wasn’t even too annoyed with not having her usually preferred privacy while eating, basking in the attention and dropping her chin on his lap. Her breathing was so calm but her heartbeat was thumping hard against Cliff’s lap, still the very definition of “the happiest dog in the world.” 

“Did you get the bad guys, Brandy?” 

A little pant came out of her matching that heart rate beating against his thigh. 

“Yeah, _ you _ got the bad guys because you’re fuckin’ Wonder Woman!” 

Brandy almost grumbled like she could understand the English language, getting up on all fours and immediately nuzzling her face into his chest multiple times. Christ. This was another one of those situations where Cliff could honestly start crying like a big baby. His little girl really did love him! It was just too damned precious, Brandy grumbling a little sneeze out of her nose and right on one of his newer shirts. He didn’t care. 

“But what’s with all of this recent carpet munchin’ I’ve been hearin’ about lately, girl? I saw you going in for a kiss with that yoga instructor,” and her front legs jumped up onto his chest, Brandy licking his face without a care in the world. Her breath smelled like apples and donut yeast and, well, dog, “Alright, alright,” Cliff laughed loud, scratching those meaty neck rolls, “I get it. You’re flexible, but _ is _ there anything _ you _ need to tell me?” 

But then, some things never really need to be _ over_-defined. 

* 

“C-c’mon man.” 

Damn, it was nice to have Cliff around again if only for a few hours. A palm immediately went for his shoulder blade dressed in one of the few non-Hawaiian shirts Rick could find at the trailer. He _ did _ look good, maybe even better after a week in the hospital. But one moccasin-dressed foot dragged just a little once inside. Rick almost lost it right there. This was the reality right in front of him, the corner of an eye landing on the spot where he found Cliff that night by the fireplace. 

That night. 

The blood on Cliff’s white jeans and that high-pitched laugh he gets when he's high or shit-faced. 

But Cliff was right here and right now, Rick hearing himself babbling at a distance over finishing the last of Gia’s practice for the day and coffee and apple cider donuts. His hand on Cliff’s shoulder finally dropped and gesturing into the kitchen. It was clearly shaking as twitching fingers came back to his side feeling just as distant as the dumb words out of his mouth. He somehow managed to run them through his longer and wispier bangs. 

“I-I’ll leave you w-with your gi-girl.” 

Heat was springing to his face for no good reason. 

But there was no knowing if Cliff was really seeing any of this. Rick almost prayed that he didn’t. The man _ did _ look exhausted as he slowly winced over to him like Rick owed some kind of explanation. Cliff honestly had to stop looking at him like this, fucking standing right there by the kitchen counter like he never even was fucking hospitalized! But his face discovering the yoga happening by the pool was pretty priceless, not counting clearly checking Gia out. Only Cliff... 

His left foot started towards the kitchen tile with a little drag in it. 

Fuck. 

Tears almost thought it a good idea, Rick finally turning and walking towards his bedroom on the opposite side of the living room. Some of that yoga dreaminess was settling back on top of both of his shoulders all over again. 

“Fuckin’ t-teach her to sto-stop k-kissing me, Booth!” 

“I ain’t promising shit, buddy!” 

And there was a little of that cowboy drawl that inspired him all those years ago whether he intended or not. The ends of Rick’s lips couldn’t help but quirk at that. God, it really was good to see this old motherfucker again! But then it was only a week. 

It felt even longer than a fucking week. 

Rick sighed once behind his bedroom door, the back of his head dropping right up against it. A little swallow propelled him to look up towards his ceiling. The longer and even looser hair on the one side of his forehead tickled against that eyebrow. An inhale slower than the usual 10 seconds was already gliding in before Rick even knew it. 

Safe. 

It immediately popped into his mind. 

Huh. 

A little scoff pulsed from his sinuses, it being damned hard to not grin at this too. This was one more pro on the list of staying on with Gia, but there were more pros than cons by this point. The main thing was the money, but wasn’t everything usually about money? Cliff really wasn’t wrong at that last hospital visit. 

He could always get some of his movie posters appraised before selling anything. 

At least he had that “Doc Holliday” script now courtesy of “fucking ginger intern,” Tom Williams, as of yesterday and complete with a note paperclipped on from the director-producer Frank Perry himself. 

“Tom, you think he could help back or consult? D. knows his shit! - FP” 

Rick fucking happily sobbed at this. 

But all he really knew was acting! Who was he to consult? And to consult what? Sets, costumes, fucking photography? Rick didn’t know any of that shit, United Artists had plenty of freelance staff and crew to help out, so who _ was _ he to consult anything on the dumb movie? He also had no money to fucking back it! What use was he to “Doc Holliday” despite being a huge fan of Westerns and happy to take a “supporting role of a supporting role” on a film he _ would _ actually enjoy? 

Rick still had no idea what he really wanted out of anything right now. Those two words just kept haunting and looming over his arms since Friday. But at least Jay pulled him out of it a little more last night, not even realizing he was already bending over and pulling off his socks right there up against the bedroom door. There was no need to bring in dirt from the pool area onto his rug. He practically shivered from one step of a bare foot on shag to another, Rick finally sinking down on the floor at the foot of his bed. One hand immediately went for his stomach, the other to his chest. 

If there was one thing all of his teachers from his schooling could attest to, when Rick Dalton found his own way of doing things, he was a pretty fast learner. 

This new suggestion didn’t even feel too weird. 

“This can help distract the distraction. You don’t have to necessarily erase_ all _ of your thoughts, but it pulls attention back _ onto _ than _ into _ your body, if that makes sense. So, if you’re ever really comfortable, we don’t have to do this today, Rick, but I would want you to place one hand on the lower half of your stomach and the other at your heart or just at your chest...” 

It was a little easier, feeling not too different than Gia’s own hands on Friday all over again. 

Rick still felt fucking horrible about everything on Friday. 

But he still didn’t even know what he felt fucking horrible about! 

10 … 

9 … 

8 … 

7 … 

His palm felt warm against his stomach. 

6 … 5 … 

4 … 

But it was just a little weird to have someone in another room while he was doing this. 

3 … 

How _ was _ Rick not feeling so self conscious?! 

2 … 

It was just Cliff! 

1

It was just Cliff. 

Lesser shaking fingers twitched over his stomach. 

Maybe Rick _ did _ gain weight while in Italy, but then one advantage of growing up in the Midwest is understanding that sometimes eating something someone offers you in front of them is usually the biggest compliment. 

1 … 

2 … 

Safe. 

3 … 

Even everything underneath skin felt just as quiet as his whole house. But whether it was from knowing Cliff was out of the hospital or because Rick was in his bedroom, he just had no idea. 

It felt just a little creepy and yet a little safe underneath all of that weirdness. 

4 … 

5 … 

Safe. 

“Rick, I would like you to go into that hovering almost push-up and just stay right there. We will build up to that full pose soon. You can stay there for three counts and start your exhale on the third then push back...” 

6

But just going into something close to a push-up made him remember high school. Rick really didn’t want to remember any of that, but the little feelings associated to that time came floating to the surface anyway. There was that crazy motivation to beat up _ real _ Nazis, to defend his country although 2 years younger than required. Then there was all of that stupid wanting to impress the big man on Washington University’s campus which Robert ended up becoming and being repeatedly disappointed. 

An exhale roared out to the inner hem of his sweat pants, his gray t-shirt clad chest nowhere near as flexible as Gia’s only slanting just enough towards thighs. 

Fuck. 

This always felt so good, but it was going to hurt like a bitch in a matter of seconds. 

Bangs tickled just above his eyelashes; the back of his throat clogged like always. 

All of last night really did happen and Jay was a pretty great guy to know! Rick had only ever hoped to know Roman Polanski and his actress-wife as an extension, but networking with people around the main target was always just as effective! Besides, Jay _ did _ know just as many bigger names and proved to be much more genuine with no sales pitches or anything to convince him the cut and color would look great. And it did! 

“And just hang like this, Rick. With that single exhale back, let everything just be what it is.” 

Maybe this is how it always was, all of this borderline annoying quiet. Cliff always _ did _ have some kind of grounding power that brought a usually drunk Rick back to earth, but what about a sober one? A few beads of sweat went down past an eyebrow. Even a little of that shampoo Jay brought with him breathed off the tips of looser bangs. Maybe this was sober “Rick Dalton” under that grounding power, but that cryptic quiet kept hanging around right there. Right there, somewhere down in his bones. 

Maybe Cliff already had a few donuts and dutifully kissed his weird fucking dog hello. Was it crazy to hope that he was climbing into that tiny Volkswagen with Brandy to go wherever? 

Rick’s chin shook right here between his collarbones. 

“If you can’t bring yourself to that place, just think or whisper “it is what it is.”” 

“It is what it is” whispered right out of him. 

A shallower sigh fell right out. 

Rick dropped his head a little further between his already shaking biceps. 

“It is what it is” he mouthed to himself before going back into that “hovering almost-push up.” A cough came softly barking right out into the open air. Bare feet started up between each arm, the shag rug tickling them all the way up. A few goosebumps collected on Rick’s lower back as he sat back down and crossing his legs. 

10 … 

9 … 

8 … 

7 … 6 … 

5 … 

4 … 

Rick’s stomach flexed into his palm, sticking to doing everything in threes even without Gia in front of him. 

3 … 

2 … 

The house was way, way too quiet. Cliff should have turned on the TV or some music or something! 

If Cliff was still here... 

1

But no swear word came bubbling out because of that partner, ex-partner, of his. 

Rick still had no idea what was wrong with him. 

1 … 

2 … 3 … 

Safe. 

4 … 

“Y-you sure th-this doesn’t l-look a l-l-little weird?” 

The water of his own shower hose hissed loud and straight into both ears, Jay sitting over him on the toilet. 

“Eh, I wouldn’t worry about it, Rick, _ I’ve _ done weirder things in a private bathroom.” 

The shock that someone was actually touching him for the first time in weeks wasn’t quite wearing off any time soon. Rick didn’t even care that it was Jay who happened to be a guy and it being just his hair. But the man _ did _ massage a scalp like a serious motherfucker, Rick almost coming just from that alone! Somehow, it _ almost _ didn’t matter that Jay was a guy. Any hands on him would have been almost welcomed by this point! 

5 … 

Safe. 

6

Both hips lifted up into the air, everything pulling backwards. 

Rick didn’t even realize goosebumps were prickling up and down his back. A sigh fell right out, his gray shirt falling up his back and the bare skin underneath did feel a little warmer from the sun-drenched bedroom window beside him. 

“I promised Sharon I wouldn’t tell you I know, but _ I _ ,” Jay gestured the half-chewed pizza slice towards his own chin, _ “ _think it’s kind of cool you’re taking on the yoga, man. Have you seen the flexibility on those people?!” 

“An-and it d-doesn’t ruin your perception of fu-fucking Jake Cahill or anyth-thing?” 

“No way, man” and Jay was laughing as he dropped the slice back into the box then nursing his own whiskey and soda. Rick’s mouth almost watered at the thought of some whiskey. But if he was going to throw it up, it wasn’t going to happen while Jay Sebring, hairstylist to the stars, was around. “I mean,” his shorter black hair tilted to one side as he fell back onto the middle couch cushion, “it could help you last longer in the sack! I’ve heard it _ does _ that!” 

“Jay, I’m t-too old to be th-thinking ab-about that shit anym-more.” 

A little groan fell out along with that hot breath against the thighs of his sweat pants all over again. 

Rick was too fucking old to be thinking about that shit and yet he almost creamed his pants like a sixteen-year-old on the third date? _ And _ just by the power of a scalp massage done by a _ man _? It was pathetic. He clearly thought about it just a little. Maybe he was starting to simply acknowledge the lack of power it had over his progressing old age! 

Francesca’s suggestion but-not suggestion still right there though. 

Fucking Cliff or anyone of the male species was just not in the fucking cards! He still hated her for even saying any of that shit. “Rick Dalton” was simply just getting old and sex would continue to be an after-thought until having to neck a beautiful woman in any future movie. 

“It is what it is” sighed out fully himself with no Jake Cahill or Cliff Booth behind any of it. 

But was Cliff still there? 

Something in his back cracked back into place. He grunted against that popping and taking down some of that less burning gravel. 

Everything was still a little too quiet. It practically buzzed into both eardrums as they dangled right there next to the creases of his elbows. Rick stayed in what Gia called a “downward pose” just a little longer than expected. He knew he would pay dearly for this tomorrow! 

This immediately went on the con list in his mind. 

But then Cliff probably fell asleep. 

A sigh fell out this time around. 

He _ did _ look like a level of wiped out that even coffee couldn’t completely cure. The idea of that old bastard conked out on his couch with Brandy taking a snooze directly on top of him _ did _ sound like a hilarious picture that Rick deserved to take. 

The soles of his feet started back up towards both arms. Rick crossed his legs back down on the fuzzy rug underneath him with an even lighter sigh. But goosebumps were already exploding right up his back. The pads of his fingers were cool against the thin layer of cotton feeling a little of that inhale in his chest, the other palm feeling it a lot more in his stomach. 

“You know, with the fringe a little looser now you can gel it more towards the side or up into that James Dean pompadour if you want. You have a great widow’s peak, man, don’t hide it.” 

With that, Jay’s talented warm fingers finally dropped from his hair for the last time that night and right there in front of the bathroom mirror. During the half hour wait on the dye job, the whole being in a private bathroom with a guy did feel a little less weird as Jay cut the length off the back and the side burns before loosening up what he called the “side fringe.” The color choice really did look better on him than the dark brown. It wasn’t completely the darker shade of his childhood or the brighter blonde from earlier in the year but somewhere in between. The “medium brown” even looked a little gold right there in the stale bathroom light. If it was possible to feel more inside a person’s skin with a hair color change, Rick felt it. It just felt weird feeling this way without Cliff around. 

Fucking Cliff. 

Jay’s skilled hands were rising in the reflection from behind him and clapping down at the tops of his shoulders before gently gripping at them. It almost felt like he was 5 years old again on one of those days when roughhousing with Bobby was actually a little more fun than usual. 

Rick didn’t even jump. 

“Christ, buddy, you _ are _ tense!” 

“W-well, c-can you bla-blame me?” 

“Nah, I guess you can’t. OK, Jake Cahill” was groaning right out as Rick turned around from the bathroom mirror, the shorter kid with the impeccably groomed short black hair and round almost-boyish face standing right there framed by the door with his hands on his hips. But Jay was already straightening up a little taller, “Hold still cowboy, _ I’m _ hugging you.” 

“The fuck you are!” 

It slipped out way too easily and quickly, but it strangely didn’t feel as defensive as it might have sounded. 

“Alright, I get it.” Jay’s hands and his rolled-up purple shirt sleeves went up into the air like he was being arrested, the somewhat larger bathroom feeling much smaller all of a sudden, “If I went through what _ you _ went through, _ I _ would need a hug from a buddy then my best girl. Al-” his eyebrows went shooting right up and tilting his head to one side, “Although Sharon is kind of both of those things at the same time.” 

Rick wasn’t even going to touch _ that _. 

But a sigh was already coming out and right down towards his socks right there on the bathroom tile. A quick nod bobbed feeling miles away from himself, Brandy slowly waddling up into the doorway just a few steps behind Jay’s really nice bright brown leather penny loafers. 

Rick kept looking down towards his toes. Two completely unfamiliar arms were wrapping around him feeling just as warm and careful as his hands. They still vibrated from the two glasses of whiskey, one dropping on a shoulder blade and the other in the exact middle of his back. It felt nice yet not entirely right, but it didn’t have anything to do with hugging a guy. Fuck that. Rick almost dropped his head down on one of those patient shoulders, but Jay wasn’t Cliff! 

“Hell,” a single laugh scoffed and mumbled up against the shoulder of Rick’s own striped polo t-shirt, the half sleeves of Jay’s own solid purple button-down tightening around Rick a little harder, “I won’t _ even _ brag to friends I hugged fucking Jake Cahill! I swear, I’m really done with the “Bounty Law” references now, buddy!” 

“L-let’s just ke-keep it li-li-like that, alr-right?” his voice shook out, a little sniff almost saving the situation. 

Maybe the hug wasn’t a bad idea. 

But his own palms clapped on top of Jay’s shoulders. Maybe it being in a bathroom was just a little weird, Rick not even realizing how badly he needed something as simple as a hug. But there were a few tears already welling up in his eyes, hating himself that he just couldn’t reciprocate it. 

Eyes fully closed once back in that backward stretch, back in that friendly darkness behind eyelids. His heels started to slowly walk in place, shins flexing then releasing to flex all over again. Rick definitely felt it in his lower back, a more violent cough close in the back of his throat from essentially hanging upside down like this. He was never going to be as flexible as Gia as both heels hovered above the shag rug. This was _ definitely _ going to hurt tomorrow! 

There was one more con on the con list. 

“It is what it is” mouthed out of him this time around. 

There was a little grunt somewhere inside of that deep sigh on account of his fucking shins. 

Rick felt even further outside of his body, heel to toe shifting over the top of all of that fuzziness before standing between his arms. The shag tickled both bare ankles as he sat back down and crossing his legs. The base of his tailbone was spinning again, Rick almost a little lightheaded just from the weird anomaly. If this kept making him woozy, it definitely wouldn’t hurt to ask Gia how to stop this from happening. 

That had to have been one for the pro and another for the con list. 

But an exhale was coming from the doorway and this time, it didn’t have four legs and an affinity for licking Rick’s face. 

Cliff mother-fucking Booth leaned right there on the hinges side of his open bedroom door, crossing his tan arms over that grayish-blue button-down Rick put in his suitcase in pure shock. There was actually evidence that the old fuck bought clothes that didn’t look like they were imported from some Hawaiian tourist trap! But the color looked good against his dirty and longer blond hair, a little of that look narrowing his eyelids all over again. Cliff looked way, way too amused and yet confused all at the same time. 

God, did he miss this bastard! 

Rick almost felt his Adam’s apple bob swallowing yet another tempting cough. 

“Cliff, i-if you’re expecting an ex-ex-explanation, I’m no-not giving y-you one.” 

His stuntman was already making a face, teeth gritting all the way up as one denim-clad hip lifted off of the entry way. Rick was already on his feet and walking towards him, but Cliff already had two hands up in the air before pushing the air a little in his own direction. 

“God damn it now, Dalt. I don’t need your help!” 

“Li-like hell you do.” 

But Cliff was already walking towards his bed, his foot not dragging as much against the carpet. 

“I swear, it’s only when I get up and down from things!” 

“Then d-don’t sit or lean ag-against anything if-if you d-don’t n-need to.” 

“Rick Dalton,” and a grunt took Cliff right down on top of his gray blanket, that famous reprimanding finger pointing right back at him, “_ you _ are not my mother!” 

“I’m a lo-lot better lookin’ th-than your mo-mother.” 

It slid out a little too easily. 

Those were fighting words to some men, but Cliff’s blondish-brown eyebrows practically winced down towards his narrowing eyelashes. 

That too familiar grin was slowly sliding up that even more familiar face. Eventually, his stuntman and ex-employee was scoffing a laugh to the back of his throat, a little shake of those longer bangs. God, did Rick miss this old fuck! That chuckle _ did _ smell like a fresh cigarette, the craving not even close to tempting but feeling much more like an obligation. Rick still had no idea what was happening to him! He sat right down on the armless bench at the foot of his bed with elbows on either knee and staring at his folded hands. 

For all of the times this old bastard spent pulling Rick out of that bed, he was actually sitting down on it like it was nothing! 

One hand shot right up to scratch his temple for no good reason. 

“Y-you know I-I got your cl-clothes from the cl-cleaners,” and his hair was still ridiculously soft from the higher end stuff Jay brought with him, fingers brushing the bangs up towards the crown of his head before gesturing towards the next room over, “They’re i-in the guest bedroom closet if you w-want to grab th-those on your way out.” 

“Out?” 

Rick’s eyes slammed shut, dropping his head enough to balance the heels of his hands against his forehead. 

“W-well” shook right out, a tiny bit of resolve dropping his fingers back in the air in front of both knees. A little sniff tried to make all of those almost tears disappear, but Rick knew that to be completely impossible as he started to slowly look back towards the only real friend he ever had. “I-I thought you were p-p-planning on g-gettin' out of town. I-I wouldn’t bl-blame you.” 

His voice was shaking and Rick almost felt his cheeks going pink. 

Cliff blinked over to the end of the bed like he was almost acknowledging what was really going on in his dumb stupid head, a deep sigh turning all of that too familiar face towards the open bedroom door. 

Outside of the tiny hallway laid everything that happened Friday night. 

Jesus Christ. 

But Rick still wouldn’t blame Cliff for leaving. 

His hands were shaking. 

And turning towards his stuntman, his ex-stuntman just as much as his ex-driver, ex-fucking-handyman, even Rick’s shoulders were shaking. 

It stayed like this for what felt like minutes, the one side of Cliff’s hospital-pale face looking directly down the smaller hallway into the living room where he got fucking stabbed. But he didn’t look like it was looking at particularly anything. Somewhere in this near lethargic grounding, Rick wanted to be anxious but knew he didn’t have to be. He always _ did _ trust this guy! Cliff was always dealt a bad hand in his life, but somehow, he always got through it. He was always about doing the unexpected and the most ridiculous things in the moment which did end up working for him until it didn’t. This hero would definitely walk into the sunset Harry Carey style, like the opening shot of “3 Godfathers”! 

Both eardrums picked up that buzzing in the middle of all of that quiet all over again. 

“Eh.” 

Rick had never heard Cliff sound that high-pitched before unless he was laughing, all of that golden blond and silver-streaked mess tilting over towards the foot of his bed. 

“I thought about it and then thought, well,” a little shrug quirked one of Cliff’s shoulders, another scoff making its way towards the door all over again, “this town _ may _ be a little ridiculous, but Rick fuckin’ Dalton needs someone.” 

His lips pressed so hard against one another, both of their inside wet linings met. This time, his chin was definitely trembling watching his stuntman, ex-stuntman, whatever, turn towards him with a grin that only twitched the ends of his mouth. There was an even bigger smile lodged in those fucking eyes of his. 

God, Rick really did fucking miss this guy! 

“J-Jesus Christ,” fingers rose back up towards his barely itching temple, Rick’s cheeks almost close to burning all over again as he looked down to his knees all over again, “C-Cliff, buddy, y-you know I’d b-be fine b-b-by myself.” 

“Well, if I can be honest, Rick, you _ really _ suck at being by yourself.” 

He had a point there. 

Once his chin stopped quivering, Rick looked back up towards Cliff looking out the bedroom door. He slightly hunched over the thighs of his darker washed jeans, elbows meeting with either knee and fingers slowly interweaving in the air in front of his legs. Like always, Rick couldn’t even tell what he was thinking. How could he still barely read the best partner he ever had after a fucking decade? This had to have been the price he paid for never bothering with Cliff who always bothered with _ him _! Rick felt like shit. If anything needed changing... 

Rick felt like shit with another person and yet sucked being by himself! There was no winning in this situation. 

“Yep,” Cliff was raising his voice all over again, tilting an abnormally fainter tanned forehead up to the ceiling, “against my better judgment, I’m stayin’ and takin’ care of your dumb ass,” those obscenely straight teeth finally smiled, darker blue eyes sparkling sardonically yet genuinely directly in his direction. Rick could have almost sobbed, “Whatever you still need out of me, partner, I’m here for you.” 

An inhale immediately went his own eyes to the top panel of the bedroom door’s white partition. 

Fuck. 

This guy! 

Rick could feel his cheeks really burning and tears were definitely not too far away. 

“Af—” another swallow held another cough at bay, the gulp clicking loud in his ears. The corners of Rick’s eyes were definitely wet and they were not going away any time soon. An inhale was slowly shaking inwards, feeling Cliff’s always reliable gaze on him as he practically stared into the panel above the door, “even af-after everything that ha-ha-ha-happened and a-al-al-all the shit I sa-sa-sa-said in It-It-Italy?” 

He was feeling way too calm and yet slowly breaking all at the same time. 

That motherfucking stupid grounding power! 

Why did Cliff fucking do this shit to him? 

But at the same time, this guy still _ wanted _ to look out for his dumb ass. 

“You had a good reason back there in Italy, Dalt. But I... I figure,” and Cliff was starting to look right back into the living room, Rick’s eyes betraying him as they finally left the door, “no, wait, shit,” he shook all of that longer hair practically down to his hands between his knees, wincing that one eyelid near shut all over again. Rick felt like he needed to be anxious although having no reason to be. “I _ know _ that Rick Dalton needs someone.” But Cliff kept staring down half of a hallway. There was no blaming him for not being able to say this directly to his face, the older stuntman always having a sensitive gravitas that never really needed words but it always came out in his actions. 

But his cheeks burned the hottest they had all day. 

“Yeah” drew right out, that tanned forehead looking back up to the ceiling, “Rick Dalton needs someone even if that someone isn’t his driver anymore or” Cliff carefully grunted he stared back out the door, leaning down enough to press fingers against both of his eyebrows until meeting the bridge of his nose, “or if he even matters that much to Rick fucking Dalton anymore or even as close of a friend like before.” 

“Jesus Christ, Cliff, you fucking matter to m-me more th-than you think.” 

Rick didn’t even feel weird about saying a single word. At least he wasn’t shaking anymore. 

And the real hero of everything was finally looking right back at him. A little smile was inching one side of Cliff’s cocked grin, something in that usually sarcastic blue gaze looking genuinely shocked and pleased all at the same. Tears wanted to distort this image but not all at the same time. After all, Cliff Booth was _ actually _ sitting on his barely made bed, his dark gray blanket and even paler gray sheets underneath them. 

Jesus-fucking-Christ, he really did love this old bastard. 

“An-and,” but with the one word, “Rick fucking Dalton” officially had tears running down his face, pointing an index finger directly at the best partner ever, “And d-don't you f-fuckin' for-forget it.” 

“Whatever you say, partner.” 

That smile kept growing bigger. 

Rick just kept crying, dropping his face into one hand and pressing his pinky and thumb into both temples. An inhale went in shaking and barely holding it for even a single count. 

Safe. 

It fell out all over again, something close to a shaking chuckle exhaling hot right into his palm. A sniff tried to evaporate the tears and a little of that gravel started to trail up the back of his throat. 

“Yo-you have no b-b-bu-business ma-matterin' over _ me _ th-though, b-buddy,” this Rick couldn’t even tell the top panel above his bedroom door feeling almost glued to his fingers, “Jesus Christ. I’m, I’m not ev-even g-good for much an-anym-more. I-I can’t sm-smoke,” sobbed out even louder. Who Cliff believed to be “Rick fucking Dalton” officially broke apart right there behind his knuckles, popular perceptions of egotistical and narcissistic actors be damned! It wouldn’t be surprising if he was waiting for this moment after everything that happened. His eyes slammed shut under the shadow of his palm, this not being too different than Cliff’s always reliable aviators. “I-it don’t taste ri-right anym-more. I-I ca-ca-can't ev-ev-ev-even dri-dri...Jesus H. Christ, Cliff, wh-who am I I-if I can’t dr-dr-drink anymore?! I d-dunno wh-who I... I am without the dr-drinking!” 

That sobbed out even louder, it nearly screeching up into his ears. 

Christ, he was pathetic. 

“Fuck, man, what happened?” 

“I-I don’t kn-know." But Cliff sounded like he was even closer than being in the middle of the bed. If Rick’s eyes weren’t already shut, sopping wet eyelashes would have hurled together just by the proximity of this old bastard he loved way too much. It really was that ability Cliff had in saying so much with so little. Rick was always fine with it, but hearing all of that drunk philosophy and those wordier moments really was something, like it was cracking him open and showing even more of what made Cliff Booth fucking Cliff Booth! The army vet was a fascinating guy and so much more than just his fucking stuntman! 

“I-I _ really _ d-dunno.” 

His voice wasn’t shaking as much as he sniffed hard behind that one hand. Rick was a little too tempted in asking for those aviators, but then they might have found their usual abode right near whichever wheels Cliff was going to take with him. 

No, wait, no. 

Cliff actually _ didn’t _ want to go... 

“I g-got back fr-from the Polanskis an-an-and I ma-made a sour, I-I-I dunno wh-why and be-before I kn-know it, I’m th-th-thr-throwin' u-up li-like some fu-fuckin' college fres-freshman at hi-his first p-party. Fuck, I’m fuckin' pathetic! Smok-kin' ju-just tastes li-like f-fuckin' metal! L-leave it t-t-to some godd-d-damned hippy bi-bitch scaring the be-bejesus right ou-out of me. I-I-I didn’t th-think she could sc-scare the dr-drink right out of me too!” 

An even closer scoff still smelled like cigarettes. 

“I-I tried mul-multiple times. But ev-every fucking t-time, Cliff,” his hand finally came down with an emphatic gesture, dangling right there off his thigh. Rick’s heartbeat felt like it was going a million miles a minute and yet not with all of that calm, staring down at his fingers Francesca suggested he should bother to get manicured sometime, “I th-threw up the only sip of fuckin’ b-beer up at Sharon’s house. I threw up th-the one sip of w-w-whiskey sour th-that same night, I tr-tried s-s-s-s-so many ti-ti-ti-times du-during the w-week until I... I got ti-tired of it. I... I hav-haven't even h-h-had s-sex in ov-over tw-two weeks! Face it, p-partner, I’m a fu-fuckin' l-loser an-and a has-been. Francesca was ri-right about m-m-me. I... I d-don't even know w-what kind of m-man I am, b-but I _ do _ kn-know we’re fr-friends.” 

“Hey now,” Cliff’s voice was lower than usual. It was even a little softer and this was _ definitely _ new! Rick just kept staring at his hand, the wrist bone rotating around with an occasional crack. But it was no good and affectionate “no crying in front of the Mexicans” or “here, put these on, brother.” Something was at the top of one shoulder, its bicep already kind of hurting from all of those “almost push-ups.” 

“Hey there now, you better not be talkin’ about that Rick fucking Dalton of mine,” a little laugh chuckled down towards Rick’s knees, sniffing hard and wet against all of that dead quiet, “Y-you know, he was my boss once.” 

Rick had never even heard this old fuck sound like this before! This wasn’t Cliff just trying on the “Jake Cahill” accent either. He had no _ sober _ memory of this old bastard ever sounding this gentle towards him. His tanned wrist turned one more time without a pop, a few goosebumps already rising the hair on that forearm. Something whacked at his jaw and Rick looked up towards the poor guy who sat through his crazy stupid stuttering and all of that ranting. What made Cliff think he deserved it?! 

A hand was firmly gripping his shoulder. 

“B-besides, _ you _ forget, Rick Dalton” and he sat even taller against the low cushioned bench, Cliff’s face looking something just as gentle as the tone coming out of his face sounded just a little accusing. That hand slapped back down on a shoulder cap, those thick blondish-brown eyebrows knitting downwards with a quick nod, “I knew you _ before _ the drink fucked you up. I liked that guy then and I’m sure I can like this one too. Don’t make my decisions for me, alright, cowboy?” 

Everything went quiet all over again. 

Rick managed a nod. 

Fingers finally reached up for the few tears still in the corners of his eyes. They just kept wiping down his face, still sniffing just as wet with a little growl of the smoker’s cough Rick wasn’t getting rid of any time soon. 

“Alright” drew out through a louder sigh once Rick’s hands fell against either knee, all of Cliff’s even bluer eyes smiling directly into his. Shit, Rick had never really looked at them up close like _ this _ before, “The shoulder is free here, Bounty Law, if you need it.” 

But Cliff had never actually suggested it before. 

It always seemed to be a law of some kind of physics or gravity or some shit like that that brought Rick to drop his head down on that too reliable shoulder. 

All of those calm and loose muscles courtesy of the yoga actually froze. 

Seconds or even minutes ticked by just like this. Everything sat completely still except for Rick’s narrowing eyebrows looking straight into his stuntman’s slowly brightening blue eyes. What made Cliff think that when he offered, Rick would just do it? Maybe all of this really was a one-sided obsession, but at the same time, he knew they were friends. It was stupid to think any differently. But for paying him to be his driver, to help around the house, to be a part of the business of “Rick Dalton,” some of that isn’t what a friend is really for! Young “Ricky Dalton” was just happy to have anyone to run after on the playground playing Cowboys and Indians! Maybe friendship was always just some opportunistic stupidity in believing that making connections meant something more than Hollywood or just hanging out on the playground. Where was the meeting of minds or interests or... 

Rick froze even harder. 

Fuck. 

Shit. 

Damn it. 

“Oh, c’mon now” grumbled right out and the hand on Rick’s shoulder went to the back of his head. Both cheeks were most definitely burning as Cliff pulled them down against that blue-gray shoulder. 

Shit. 

This was something close to caring and Cliff Booth wasn’t the kind of person to just offer up tinier displays of affection like this unless he really meant it. But there was always a hand on his shoulder or the side of his face, but this? This felt way different, maybe even something close to intimate or maybe Rick was momentarily losing his mind. He couldn’t tell. 

“C'mon, Dalt” gently rumbled right into one ear, that hand on the back of Rick’s head dropping down onto his back. 

And he was shaking, his forehead twitching against hard collarbone. 

“I got you, buddy” came out just as soft. 

Rick’s eyes slammed shut full of tears just at that tone in Cliff’s voice. 

He wanted to feel anxious, but that grounding power was even stronger right here up against his one and only partner. An exhale breathed hard, feeling the flex of his stomach without a hand up against it. But his breathing was shaking, feeling another hot arm and hand rising to the other side of his ribs. Cliff Booth was close to cradling him like a newborn, but it didn’t feel completely weird. 

Safe. 

It came without an inhale or exhale, but this second was definitely a safe one. 

“That’s some good smellin’ shit in your hair, man” gently growled right down the side of his face and practically buzzing into his ear, “Where do I get some of that?” 

“On-only if you w-want to p-pay Jay 80 bucks for a hairc-cut.” 

“Jesus, 80?” 

“His g-going rate is over a hu-hundred for ac-actors, bu-but he gave m-me a neighbor discount.” 

“It looks good on you, Rick,” Cliff’s voice hummed almost sweetly directly down into the one ear, fingers rising back up into his hair. A few ran through the longer darker gold waves a little less teasing than earlier with the bangs. 

“Y-you should m-move in” came out so randomly and Rick couldn’t think of one reason against it. 

Something hard and square landed softly on the top of his head, Cliff’s fingers still weaving through his hair. An inhale went in and stayed there for only a second. 

“I would like that, partner.” 

“I... I want a full do-over" came out a little louder against Cliff’s shirt, tears already tumbling across his burning face. “I w-want a f-full d-do-over, Cliff. I know I... I have b-been a shit friend in ways I d-don’t want to be an-anymore, it’s n-not f-fair to you, buddy. I... I need to st-start taking c-care of you t-too, man and d-don't tell me y-you don’t need an-any of it!” 

“Alright, boss.” 

“Fu-fuck that b-boss shit, Booth.” 

Something even softer dropped into the crown of Rick’s hair, a chuckle rumbling deep into his skull. 

“Goddamn, I’ve missed you, Dalt.” 

A sharp sniff breezed through his hair. 

“Besides” came out even brighter, Cliff’s hand leaving the side of his back and dropping down onto his knee. The other fell against the mattress behind him, “we made a little house out of that trailer, you and I, didn’t we?” 

“At least th-this place is b-bigger than th-that trash heap.” 

“And I know I couldn’t possibly tear Brandy away from her girlfriends.” 

“Shut up, Cliff” Rick heard himself laugh and finally moving his forehead off of that reliable shoulder. The nicest T-shirt Cliff ever had had to have been soaked through by now! A sniff breathed deep trying to magically wipe any more tears that were still on his face. But the back of Rick’s head was gently buzzing, both of his temples rocking as he slowly sat all the way up. 

“You alright there, Rick?” 

“S-sat up too fast. M-makes me rem-remember what it wa-was like wh-when,” a little scoff chuckled right off the hot gravel in Rick’s throat, “Bobby used to rough around with me when w-we were kids. Nev-never recovered t-too well af-after them.” He would leave it right there. Maybe someday soon Cliff would find out how Bobby, Robert as he preferred it now, would make fun of his being lightheaded and all the other mental bullshit. 

“I keep forgettin’ you have a brother” and Cliff was still smiling directly at him like Rick was the only person in the world right now before looking down towards his hand pressing down on the mattress, “Oh Goddamn, Dalt, your bed feels like a blessing right now. I haven’t had a good 6 hours since before the disaster.” 

“F-figured. Go ahead, man.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m su-sure I’m sure! David should be comin’,” a quick glance went over the much drier side of that grayish-blue T-shirt to his alarm clock, “around a li-little b-before lunch, could m-make a li-little somethin’ for ya.” 

Cliff was already shucking off his moccasins one foot at a time. 

“Rick Dalton cookin’ for me” Cliff’s long blond-brown hair and all of its silvery streaks shook, eyebrows knitting down towards that sharp blue glance as it shot back towards him. How _ did _ Rick never notice the color of his eyes like this before?! “Shouldn’t you be supervised?” 

“Fuck off, old timer.” 

His stuntman was pulling his body weight back against the sea of gray cackling that fractured high-pitched “tee hee.” But that made Rick remember _ that _night all over again. Like every moment Cliff forgot to put his cigarette in his right hand in the hospital, he rolled onto his left side and immediately winced and twitched all at the same time. 

“I-if you’re m-moving in, one of us n-needs to learn how to co-cook anyway.” 

“No if’s, amigo,” Cliff grunted as he rolled over onto his right side, “Brandy and I _ are _ moving in. Just try and stop us!” 

And that pit bull was already leaping up onto his bed, sniffing at Cliff’s feet before an arm wrangled her up towards his chest. Rick couldn’t help but shake his head over how much this guy loved his fucking dog. 

“C’mere, girl, Daddy needs to tell you some big news about Uncle Rick and I...” 

But Cliff never started on his “big news,” falling asleep as quickly as he laid back on Rick’s own bed! It looked pretty endearing though, his hulking slim figure hunching towards the right side of the mattress, all of the blues on Cliff almost blending right into the blanket underneath him except for his arms and everything above the neck. But the bright brown spot that was Brandy pointed the whites of her eyes over one of her shoulders. That insane dog was smiling the brightest she had that whole week and Rick couldn’t really blame her as he slowly got up from the bench. A hand shot out for anything for support. The pinky side of a knuckle landed on the outside of Cliff’s knee and it practically tingled at the littlest of human contact. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Raveonettes's "Ode to L.A." (featuring Ronnie Spector)
> 
> Come on let's go to where it's fun  
I want a slice of L.A. sun  
Whoa ho ho ho
> 
> Honey let's go  
(Feels like you never have to)  
Honey let's go  
(Come down you don't really want to)  
Honey let's go  
(Stay out is all you need to)  
Honey let's go  
(Go to sleep you don't really want to)
> 
> So come along and pay the price  
This ain't New York this tasty slice  
Whoa ho ho ho
> 
> Take a minute listen to this town  
Don't you ever feel you have to come  
Take a minute she won't let you down
> 
> See you excited in her arms  
L.A. and all her crazy charms  
Whoa ho ho oh


End file.
